The Gift
by HeadIntheCloudsForever
Summary: Frank and Nancy get asked to travel a few hours away to Chicago to help a wealthy socialite find her missing granddaughter. This job requires new identities, and for some a new look. The greatest gift they could give Renata Graham is to bring her granddaughter home, and Nancy struggles to tell Frank her news.
1. Chapter 1: Travel Plans

A/N: Hi guys! This is my 3rd ND story for the fandom, and I PROMISE this one is lighter. More mystery, less haunting and not-so-scary unsubs! Holiday themed, if you will. I wanted to do a Nancy Drew themed Christmas story, so this is my take on something a little lighter and not quite so dreary. Hope you enjoy! :)

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A few hours ago, Nancy Drew's stomach growled. Now though, it was silent. She was past the growling point. She felt a sinking emptiness, like a part of her was gone and she needed to get it back. She was tired and couldn't focus. How was it possible that she ate breakfast just six hours ago, and a snack three hours ago? For as hungry as she was, she might as well have not eaten anything at all. Her stomach let out another violent protest, and she squirmed in the deli's line, doing her best to ignore her gnawing hunger pains at lunch. The Shakespeare themed cafe on the corner adjacent to River Heights' was one of Nancy's favorite corners of heaven. It was where the chattering chefs could be heard from the tables, joking and teasing, or perhaps singing loudly and out of tune, not caring who heard. The food choices were simple, sandwiches, soups, and chips and cookies, and the decor artistic and modeled after the great literary works of William Shakespeare himself. The thirty-three-year-old detective loved it for the people, for the conversations they had and the routine of seeing one another, the chance to make those casual bonds of friendship.

All she knew is that when the sun rises, when those first rays of the day tell her that the day has already become a vibrant scene, she looked forward to being there, to greeting the regulars behind the counter. Nancy watched the man behind the deli counter of her favorite cafe and bookshops carve the meat then put aside one slice. She was curious, her interest piqued. So she asked why it was separated from the other slices he was currently carving to put on her turkey sandwich order. The deli worker answered her questions, tired.

"Boss tells us to throw it away. I'd rather not though; it's a waste of perfectly good food. Sometimes I ask our customers if they want a free slice and they refuse."

After a small pause, the detective and receptionist of the River Heights Police Department asked what was wrong with that particular slice.

"Nothing!" he chirped cheerily. "It's good! You ask my professional opinion; it could be slightly drier, but still good. You want me to throw it on your sandwich, miss?"

She nodded, offering the older man a shy smile.

"Yes, please," she mumbled, shifting her mini black Rosetti crossbody to her other hand, her favorite wallet in her left hand, ready to pay for her lunch order.

"Finally," the man chuckled, breathing a sigh of relief. "Someone with a head of sense on her shoulders. I can tell by that look in your eyes, you don't like to waste perfectly good food neither. World needs more people like you and me, if you ask me," the deli worker joked. He took a minute to fix his gloves and wipe the knife clean. "What else you want on this, miss? Tomato, lettuce, onions, mayo, mustard, the works? Same as usual, miss? I know you come in here a lot, but I gotta ask. The day might come when you change your mind!"

Nancy nodded, grinning. "You know me too well, Sam. How many times I come in here, I always order the Bitter Bread of Banishment from King Richard II?" she teased. "Twice a week I come here, like clockwork every Friday and Saturday, Sammy! I order the same thing every time. Sliced smoked Turkey sandwich with Swiss and Pepperjack cheese, lettuce, mayo, tomato, mayo, mustard, a bag of Lay's baked potato chips, and two chocolate chip cookies, Sam. You ought to know me by now! I'm offended that you even have to ask!"

"Yes, ma'am," he joked, giving the café's best customer an appreciative once-over, admiring her slender form in her green wrap maxi dress. "You got a hot date tonight I don't know about, Miss Drew? What's with the dress? I haven't seen it on you before."

The young detective glanced down at her dress, confused. Gifted to her by her Bess for her birthday in May, she had been looking for an excuse to wear it. The dress itself was a Bohemian style V-neck short sleeve empire waist maxi dress that flowed and breathed with her movements, with a wrap closure. Carefully embroidered Manuka flowers merged with the randomly creased high waistline and hemline. The detailed knit fabric embraced her body, looking effortlessly put together with her simple brown sandals and stud earrings. "Maybe!" Nancy laughed. "Not that it's any of your business, Sam. Tell Henry next time not to wait around for a girl he likes. He waited too long to ask me out! I'm married now, Sam! You know that, Sam I Am!" she joked, flashing the plain yellow gold wedding band she wore on her finger. Sam behind the counter just laughed.

"He'll be so disappointed. I'll tell him you said that, he missed his opportunity," Sam teased. He noticed her wallet in her hand protectively. "Nice sloths, Nancy. Where'd you pick that up, somewhere here in town in one of the shops? You might be the only girl on the entire campus that has a little wallet with sloths on it."

"Bess gave it to me for Christmas, Sam. I'm rather fond of this wallet, so quit commenting on it. I love it, that's all that matters!" Nancy glanced down at her wallet, seeing nothing wrong with it. It often got compliments whenever she took it out to pay for something; it was a good conversation starter. Her best friend, Bess Marvin, had gifted it to her last Christmas. It was a small zipper wallet depicting an adorable family of sloths hanging on tree branches, sleeping, cuddling with their babies. With embossed printing and the leaf shaped clasp to finish off the adorable design, she hadn't gone wrong in picking out her best friend's Christmas gift last year, did she?

She snapped it open, pulling out her purple and orange Discover credit card to pay for her lunch. The wallet was small, only five credit card slots, a clear plastic ID window, and a large money pocket slit. When she flipped it over and unzipped the back, there were two larger compartments for her change and receipts. Nancy stuck her tongue out at Sam as he finished wrapping up her sandwich and cutting it into two halves for her, wrapping it up and bagging it for her. She sighed as she inserted her credit card into the card reader's slot, waving a cheerful hello to another customer that entered the counter behind her, mumbling a hello.

Nancy glanced at the time on her phone. She was running behind, she had exactly ten minutes to get back home before she'd be late for their date. Frank had sounded urgent on the phone when he called, saying she needed to have a bag packed and ready to leave by eight tonight. She removed her credit card from the slot once it dinged, taking care to put the card back in the correct slot. With her, everything had its place. The young detective plunked her wallet back into her simple black crossbody purse, a cute little bag Bess had helped her pick out, a little too enthusiastically, if you were to ask Nancy. The blonde was always insistent on Nancy needing to upgrade her wardrobe, but Bess had happily gone with her to Kohl's, and helped her pick out a mini black crossbody to hold her things, insisting she needed a winter and spring bag. Black for winter, and a fun colorful one for the spring and summer months.

Her detective senses were buzzing, telling her that once again, her husband was planning something for the two of them.

"Can't be as bad as the last vacation we took together, did it?" she murmured to herself, beginning the walk home, fighting against the bitter cold of winter, pulling her pea coat tighter around licked at her face and crept under her clothes, spreading across her skin like the lacy tide on a frigid winter beach. With purple lips tinged with blue and gently chattering teeth she wrapped her thin coat around her tighter. Cold stalked her through the mountain passes like a specter death, the bitter wind laughed as it tore right to her heart and turned her blood to icy sludge. Her muscles began to ache and grind like the cogs in old machine. "Mohonk, Frank! I told you we should have stayed put once we got there. Taken an extended vacation and never come back to River Heights," she chuckled, though her weak little laugh did nothing to quell the haunted look in her eyes. "Let's just hope this vacation doesn't end with a fight for our lives, or our souls," she grumbled darkly as she at last reached their house and flung open the door, relishing the warmth of the fire in the fireplace that her husband had started for her. "Frank?" she called out, her voice echoing throughout the entryway.

No answer.

"In here, Nan!" he called out from the other room, sounding like he was coming from the kitchen. As he walked into the living room, her blood wakes up her brain, though she thought herself already awake. Her smile at seeing her husband grew of its own accord and she could either let Frank Hardy see what he ignited or hide it. Either way, he was the most fun thing in her world. "Are you all packed?" he asked, looking effortlessly handsome in a simple black sweater and jeans. "You aren't, are you?" he scolded, his tone only lightly teasing her.

"Well if you would tell me where we're going, I could be!" she teased, setting down her purse and snaking her arms around her husband's neck, pulling him down slightly into her kiss. "You wouldn't or couldn't tell me much over the phone, but I'm here now, so tell me what's going on!" she protested playfully, pulling back a little to study his face.

"It involves a mystery. You up for it, Miss Drew?" he asked, his eyes twinkling infectiously.

"I never turn down an opportunity to help someone, Frank," she said, her tone serious now. "Who's the client?" she asked, feeling her voice lose its playfulness, replaced with a more solemn business-like tone that reminded her of her father, Carson.

"Some wealthy socialite named Renata. Not the storyteller you met over in Germany, Nance, a different Renata. She owns a big bank in Chicago, asked for you specifically to come up and help locate her missing granddaughter," Frank explained, sitting cross-legged on their bedroom floor's carpet, apparently deciding between two pairs of socks before deciding at last to take both of them.

Nancy stared. "Shouldn't the police be taking care of this? That's a little out of our jurisdiction, isn't it, Frank?" she wondered out loud, feeling her eyes grow wide and round as Frank pulled out a box. "Frank, is that what I think it is?" she asked, suppressing a tiny groan. "Oh, please tell me I don't have to do this. No, no, no, absolutely not!" She folded her arms across her chest and stuck out her tongue at her husband and scrunched her nose, making a disgusted face at Frank, who merely laughed in response.

"You would think so, but she claims they came and took one look around the place and left. She's not too confident in their abilities, and quite frankly, neither am I," muttered Frank, a dark shadow crossing over his handsome features. Nancy suppressed a light laugh. "And yeah, I'm afraid so, love! You don't have a choice, Nance," Frank laughed, snorting at his wife's expression of disdain. "She wanted you to go undercover, Nance. We're not to use our real names. If anyone plugged the name "Nancy Drew" into a search engine, your cover and mine would be blown in an instant. Renata was insistent on the hair too, Nance. I'm sorry, but you have to do it."

"Ugh, why?" Nancy groaned and rolled her eyes, snatching the box of L'Oreal Paris hair dye out of Frank's hands, perhaps with more force than was necessary, given she almost crumpled the box. Though she didn't want to do this, even Nancy had to admit the color itself either Frank or Bess had picked out was a gorgeous rich dark brown color, a dark ash brown, level 4A. If she knew her friends, and she did, Bess had chosen this, not Frank. Nancy would be the first to admit though Frank had good taste, hair was not Hardy's specialty. No, this little scheme had Bess Marvin written all over it. She made a mental note to heavily scold Bess later at her first opportunity. The dark brown color would be drastically different than her natural redheaded tresses, which she currently wore cut in a stylish long bob in soft layers that fell to her collarbones, framing her thin face in gentle layers. "Once was enough, Frank! Why do I have to dye my hair? What's wrong with just using fake names?"

"Honey, you know more than I do the benefits of going undercover. People know you by your face, your hair! We change the hair and our names, just for this job, we change who we are. We want to find this girl, we have to blend in, not draw attention to ourselves, and I hate to say it, but your red hair, as much as I love it on you, Nan, it draws attention to you, and that's the last thing Renata wants. We do this, we get in, and we get out, find the girl, go home. She thinks you and I will have better luck finding her than the authorities because she's apparently close to our ages, late twenties, early thirties, from what she told me on the phone. Oh, and did I mention this is a job that pays extremely well?" he grinned, flashing her that charming Frank Hardy smile he knew she had never been able to resist.

"How much?" Nancy shot back hotly, one hand on her hip, scowling at the box of hair dye in her hand. _Permanent_, she thought, disgusted. _If I do this, it's going to require an expensive salon visit to get my hair back to normal after this. I'm still not over what happened the last time! _

"Enough for us to take an extended vacation to the Bahamas and never come back, if that's what we want. She offered us $20k to find her granddaughter, Nance. We could move out of here and into a new place if that's what we wanted, or put it towards actually retiring, if that's what we choose to do," Frank grinned, reaching up and wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning down to kiss his wife. He kissed her and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest. Frank's kiss stole the words Nancy didn't need to say. In that silence all of their secrets were laid bare, all of their passions and the spark of love that existed between them. In that moment, in his love, Nancy was strong. One kiss and she had the courage to do what had to be done. The fireplace mimicked the warmth of the day. Nancy and Frank sat cozy by the flame, their features illuminated by the flickering light, the only one in the room. Though the air isn't smokey they could smell the pine as it burned, just a faint fragrance to reassure their senses that there will be comfort in the long bitter winter.

"Nancy?" said Frank, still sounding like he was teasing her when they broke apart from their kiss at last. He smiled at his wife and brushed a lock of her hair back from her shoulders.

"Yeah, Frank?" she murmured sleepily, burying her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his musky scent and the scent of the pine from the roaring fireplace.

"Get to dyeing," he grinned.


	2. Chapter 2: New Look

When Nancy told her husband no more Christmas presents after this year, he had laughed and asked why what was so special about this year? Oh, she knew why, but she wanted to wait until the right moment to give Frank her gift, something she'd carefully planned and thought out. Nancy didn't really know, only that every time she unwrapped a gift she felt a little emptier inside. The adverts told her over and over how she should feel when she received their electronics, or make-up, or jewelry. But her lived experience was so far beneath that peak of unadulterated joy and she was left with a lingering sadness.

Frank asked her if she wanted Christmas food while they were in Chicago over the holidays and she had nodded fervently, the food her husband spent so long preparing was important. She pondered this thought while she listened to Bess continue to prattle on about finding "the right stuff."

The shopping mall has architecture the schools and hospitals can only dream of. The ceiling is domed higher than any cathedral and made of the most beautiful glass. The walkways flow like tributaries to the main rivers of people, not a sharp angle to be seen. It smells like heaven in a hand-basket and the floor shines like the surface of a lake at sunrise. In the background is music to soothe, gentle flowing notes to take the shopper's cares far away. In a world so chaotic it is order. In a world of pollution and desecration, it is clean perfection in bubble-wrap. The shopping mall is sensory overload. Only overtures for purchases are permitted in here; the messages and carefully styled images to seduce consumers are wherever the eyes may fall. There is everything Nancy wanted and very little she actually needed, though Bess had dragged her to the mall for the express purpose of "helping" with the new case. To Bess Marvin, the image was everything. To go undercover was her excuse for an entire wardrobe, or in this case, helping Nancy with one. Three stores later, Nancy had walked away with two new dresses, was now in the process of about to buy a third, a cute little black purse for her trip, and some new makeup, including a luscious red rich lipstick called "Mistletoe", perfect, Bess claimed, for Christmas.

To move through the crowd meant getting closer to other people than Nancy would usually allow, but Internet shopping won't cut it this time. Her new identity was already underway, starting with her hair.

"I hate it. Bess, I hate it so much. I hate everybody in this room right now. You are _so_ not my friend. It was YOUR idea for me to dye my hair, not Mrs. Graham's, admit it!"

Nancy's first words as she looked at her new identity in the full-length mirror in the dressing room of one of Bess's favorite stores in the mall, scrutinizing her appearance, scrunching her nose in disgust. She scowled and folded her arms across her chest as she waited for her best friend to finish helping her zip up the dress she was on the hunt for.

Part of their conditions of traveling to Chicago was to blend into the wealthy socialite, banking crowd, which meant Nancy had to forsake her jeans and sweaters at home. Mrs. Renata Graham was throwing a Christmas party that Nancy and Frank were expected to attend, a formal cocktail party at the lodge of some hotel, a Hilton. Naturally, Bess had insisted she use the hours between 5:30 pm and 8:00 pm when Frank and Nancy were destined to leave in their rental car for Chicago to take the young detective shopping for a new wardrobe and a new purse. Nancy had vehemently protested, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Bess had dragged George along too for technology shopping; insisting Nancy's phone needed an upgrade.

Bess Marvin, a petite blonde only a year or two younger than Nancy and her cousin, tomboyish George Fayne, let out a delighted laugh and clapped her manicured hands together. "I knew you would!" she chirped, sounding a little too happy for Nancy's comfort. Her expression softened when she saw the crestfallen look in her best friend's eyes. "I think it looks great, though! Hey, lighten up, Nance! I, for one, think you're being incredibly too hard on yourself. I think you look smoking hot! Frank's a lucky man," she sighed, reaching up a careful to zip up the back of the dress Nancy had tried on. "Oh yeah, that's the ticket. I think this is the one, Nance. And you're lucky since it's so close to Christmas, this happens to be on sale!" she squeaked, glancing at the price tag, her brow furrowed and then relaxed into a smile. "$30. You can do thirty bucks, can't you, Nan?"

"Yeah, but that's not the point, Bess! I don't feel like…well, _me_!"

Nancy Drew cast a rueful glance back towards the small pile of dresses she'd tried on, some on their hangers, some draped over the chair in the overlarge dressing room, George occupying the other chair, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else but in a shopping mall. George Fayne was the exact opposite of Bess, preferring to wear her dark hair in a stylish pixie as opposed to Bess's long blonde tresses.

Bess laughed. "Because you _aren't_ you, Nancy Drew. Not after 8 pm tonight, anyways. Once you get in that rental car with your handsome hunk of a husband and drive to Chicago, you're now Sophia Barret, your husband Colin Barret, junior bankers at Wells Fargo. Socialites."

"You sure about that, Bess?" she sighed, sounding exasperated.

"Yup." Bess nodded her approval, swiveling Nancy around so she could see her reflection for herself. "Why don't you take a look and see for yourself?" she teased playfully, biting her lip and taking a step back, allowing Nancy to fully, truly, see her new look for herself in the mirror. "Face it, Nance. You're a vixen! A fox! Whatever they call the lady foxes," she joked, plopping on the chair next to George, nudging George on the elbow to get her attention. "George, pay attention!"

George looked up from her phone, and even she looked impressed at her friend's new look. "Whoa," she murmured lowly under her breath.

Nancy sighed, taking a step forward to look at her reflection and admire the dress from all angles. It was beautiful; even she had to admit it.

The woman that stared back at her in the mirror could have graced any billboard or magazine cover, but she was better than those two-dimensional photoshopped models. Somehow her imperfections made her perfect. There was a shyness to her, hesitation in her body movements and softness in her voice. She was right there, only feet away, but in this strange woman's understated glamour she might as well be on the television or a girl in a pop video. She hardly recognized herself. The woman in the mirror was a stranger to her. Her new hair looked foreign. What had previously been her trademark reddish auburn locks now was a deep rich brown, the brown of aged mahogany, rich and deep. Nancy's new hair was a lovely whiskey, the color of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn. How such a tint could play with the light. Nancy sighed, recognizing there was beauty in every color of hair, even the greatly despised "brown," or at least, in her eyes, it was. She had always been proud of her red tresses, the last link to her mother that she had. But now, this hue would have to do. The dark earthy tone that reminded her of autumnal soils was pretty. Nancy knew some had hair with brighter tones, inflections of vibrant red or gold streaks that catch the sunlight. She loved those too, but this brown just wasn't for her. Though she knew the earth herself had a beauty that was not to be ignored and to wear the color of her rich dark soils was an honor, not a misfortune.

Nancy cringed with a sort of resigned acceptance at her fate, tucking a lock of now dark-chocolate hair behind her ear, surveying the dress she'd picked with careful precision and scrutiny. The dress was simple, a gray wrap dress with long sleeves that emphasized her slender figure and the dress had a slit in the front that if she moved slightly, even just so, would reveal her long lean legs she was so proud of, that she worked hard to keep in top prime condition. Paired with a pair of simple black heels and a decent black purse, Nancy knew she would fit right in with the other wealthy bankers and stockbrokers of Chicago's trade market.

She turned towards her friends. "What do you think?" she asked, doing a full 360 circle so they could see all angles.

Surprisingly, it was George who spoke up first, not Bess, fixing the young detective with an interesting stare. "I think," she said slowly, and Nancy wasn't sure if she was referring to the dress or to her hair color or even her husband. "That you've found the perfect one."


	3. Chapter 3: Renata

The inner city grew out of the cracked sidewalk like the jagged gap-toothed grin of an old junkie. The only splash of color in the grime came from the lurid graffiti and the sidewalks were littered with injection paraphernalia. From every covered doorway came the dejected stares of men and women in their pathetic cardboard sleeping bags. From upper windows came the boom of sub-culture music. The hookers stalked the streets in their skimpy outfits and high boots looking for work, their drug-addled bodies as thin as pins, and their cheekbones jutting out through pallid skin. The streets were capriciously cruel. By day the shoppers swarmed the boutiques with slogans stenciled to the glass fronts in fashionable off-white. They strutted from up-market cars to flash their credit cards in exchange for designer goods costing many times more the price anywhere else. The homeless still wandered the street, often in noisy exchanges with themselves or another down-and-out. In the coolness of the wintry daylight, they were regarded as of no more importance than the cracked sidewalk or the chipped lampposts. Indeed the shoppers wished they were not there at all and clutched their handbags all the tighter. By night the up-town mommas did not come calling with their SUV's, the streets belonged to the pimps and the drug dealers. Even the cops stayed away unless there was a complaint from a taxpayer and even then they came slowly. So it was under the sallow lamplight that most money changed hands; money from stolen goods turning into smuggled narcotics.

"Yikes, what a mess, Frank. It's been a while since I've been to Chicago. I don't remember this part of town being so...shiesty. The girl could be anywhere in the city, maybe even out of the state by now, if she's been missing for over 24 hours. What makes Mrs. Graham think she's still even in Chicago? Do we know yet?" mumbled Nancy under her breath, craning her neck to peer out of the window of their rental car as Frank drove in silence, grateful to leave the shady side of Chicago behind, though her curiosity was piqued. Mrs. Graham's granddaughter could be anywhere in the Windy City.

"The whole family is extremely well-known in Chicago, for one of them to just 'disappear' off the grid would garner too much attention. The fact that it's still relatively quiet makes Mrs. Graham think her granddaughter's laying low for the time being, but we gotta find her before something bad happens to her." Frank's tone was concerned.

"We will," reassured Nancy, her left hand drifting towards his lap and settling there. "We'll find her, Frank." She glanced down at her own lap and sighed, toying with a lock of her brunette hair, wishing it hadn't come to this. She hated disguises. She hated having to pretend to be something she wasn't.

Nancy dipped into her new black Rosetti shoulder hobo bag Bess had graciously bought for her earlier this evening, checking her cell for messages. "Nothing yet. Did Mrs. Graham say where she would meet us?" She sighed, plunking her phone back into her new purse. "Why Bess insisted on buying me this thing, even I don't know! This thing is huge, it's like a—a Mary Poppins purse! I don't even know if I have enough stuff to fit in this thing!"

Her new, or should she say, Sophia Barret's purse was incredibly different from the type Nancy would normally carry, but even she had to admit she kind of liked it. Her new hobo purse was black in color, a decent shoulder strap, silver-tone hardware, double-entry (important!), with a zipper closure and the exterior had a magnetic snap pocket, 3 slip pockets, and 1 zip pocket. If there was one thing Nancy could appreciate and admitted women's clothing and accessories didn't have enough of, it was pockets. Nancy continued to joke around with Frank until they reached their destination at precisely 9:30 pm, as Renata Graham said they would, stifling a tiny gasp as they pulled into the parking lot of their hotel, a Hilton. "Whoa."

Frank glanced at the purse in her lap, seeing nothing wrong with it. "I don't see why you hate it, Nan. I like it. Clean, classic and simple. It suits the new you, Nance. Or should I call you Sophia? Mrs. Barret?" he asked, his eyes twinkling infectiously as his wife made a face at her husband. "By the way, Nan, I didn't get to tell you this earlier, but I love the new hair," he complimented, his voice low and heavy with desire for his wife.

She blushed, feeling her cheeks grow hot. "Do you really?" she asked shyly, amazed that even after a few years of marriage to Frank Hardy, he still managed to make her feel as though every day spent with him was like the first, falling in love with him all over again. She wouldn't trade it for the world.

Frank grinned, unable to fight it back. "I know," he laughed, pulling the car up to the drop-off point, allowing Nancy to get out with their luggage and head for the check-in desk. "She said she would meet us in the hotel's restaurant, and to come hungry," he teased. "I think we can handle that. Would you get us checked in, Nan, and I'll park the car?" he asked, shooting her a brief coy little wink that he knew drove her crazy. He would pay for it later.

Nancy nodded silently with a curt jerk of her head, shutting the car door shut and wheeling in their luggage. She couldn't help but let out a gasp when she stepped inside, and immediately cursed herself for doing so. If she was going to act like a junior banker for one of the Wells Fargo branches, she was going to have to get better at controlling her emotions, not getting flustered in the presence of higher society.

The floor was tiled in fine marble, which made every step echo. A chandelier made rainbow colors dance across the luxurious lobby. Embroidered silk sofas surrounded a large, flat-screen television. The twin doors that led into the lobby were a pristine white with golden handles. The desk was made of amber-colored wood and a green granite top. Exquisite paintings hung from the rich, red walls. Even the door hinges were engraved with swirls and elegant designs. The domed ceiling rose at least 100 feet high. Nancy gaped at the splendid sight, unaware she was still gawking as she felt her feet moving of their own accord, wheeling her purple suitcase and Frank's duffle bag with the wheels towards the front desk clerk, a kind enough man whose name tag read "Joel."

Joel was a young man in his mid to late-twenties, with a thick tuft of blond hair cut close-cropped to his head. Easier to keep out of the way. His black collared shirt was crisp and neat, not a fiber out of place.

"Evening, Mrs. Barret," was Joel's first words to Nancy, who quickly had to close her mouth as it hung open in shock. Over the years spent with Frank, Nancy had perfected a look of polite impassiveness, a sort of perfect indifference. Now she was a master at managing the look and quickly adapted it for this situation.

She coughed once to clear her throat and hide her initial shock, shifting her new black purse on her shoulder, dipping into her bag to pull out the room reservation confirmation email and her card.

"No need for that, Mrs. Barret," said Joel kindly, eying Nancy's credit card in her hand. "Room's already been bought and paid for, ma'am."

_Renata_, thought Nancy, turning and glancing around, trying not to be obvious about it as she searched for their client while wanting to wait for Frank. She thought she spotted her over in a corner table in the hotel's restaurant, given she was the only elderly woman in the establishment at 9:30 at night, it had to be Renata.

"Th—thank you, Joel, have a great night!" she stammered, stowing her room rental confirmation sheet back into her purse and grabbing a set of their room key cards. Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror, she took a moment to smooth the skirts of her simple black pencil dress and adjust her black heels, fixing her hair just right. Nancy sighed, wanting nothing more than to kick off these stupid heels and collapse on their bed in a pair of pajama pants and a tank top, but work would have to come first.

The detective caught her husband's eye as he entered, smoothing his sport jacket. She gestured with a nod of her head to move towards Renata's table, certain that was her. She wasn't mistaken. Renata Graham caught their gazes as the two approached her solitary table, waters had already been ordered for them as well as a pair of cocktails.

"Mr. and Mrs. Barret," she said stiffly, rising to greet them, outstretching her hand over the table to shake both their hands. "Glad to see you made it safe," she muttered courteously, taking a sip of her margarita. Renata Graham was a woman who was clearly aging but fighting it every step of the way. Her hair was jet black pulled up in a severe-looking bun that made Nancy think of a young Minerva McGonagall from those _Harry Potter_ movies. The white skin of her face looked too tight. Her lips had been fattened with cosmetic surgery and her eyelashes were false. What she couldn't ide was the redistribution of her body fat. Even with countless hours of hot yoga, her waist was thicker and her stomach slightly relaxed. Renata was at the point that the more effort she made to appear youthful, the worse she looked. A socialite in every way.

"Mrs. Graham. We came as soon as we got your request. We apologize for the delay, we were…delayed in setting out," said Frank formally as he slid over to make room for Nancy, not even having to ask as he took her purse from her and set it over by him on the inside of the booth. His tone was neutral, but the corners of his mouth twitched as he fought back a smile as he remembered the brief but huge fuss Nancy had made over her hair and hating the fact that she had to pretend to be someone else. She worked best when she could just be herself.

"I hope you can find my granddaughter, Mrs. Barret. I—I'm afraid her disappearance may be partially my fault. I think I pushed her away until it was too late. She—she went to the bank on Friday to run an errand, and walked out with at least $50,000 worth in bearer bonds, and since she's a Graham and we own several branches in the area, and any Graham can walk into the bank at any time, for any reason. Her little surprise withdrawal wasn't discovered until closing. Her father called me, frantic, saying she was missing and the money was gone," said Renata, choosing to forsake using Nancy's real name. Nancy could tell by the tenseness in her shoulders and the way her eyes never lingered on one thing or person too long that she was distrustful of everyone and everything these days, save for a select few, Frank and Nancy is one of them. Renata waited until their maître d had left having taken their orders, a chicken salad for Nancy and prime rib for Frank, nothing for Renata, before speaking again.

Nancy decided to speak up, after taking a few minutes to observe the distraught grandmother in silence and deciding that Renata most likely wasn't a suspect, but she couldn't rule out anyone, not even Renata, though she was the one who had called them and asked for Nancy specifically. "Was your granddaughter, was Vera, seeing anyone, Mrs. Graham, do you know?"

The wealthy socialite fixed Nancy with a quizzical stare. "Young lady, of course not! We would have heard about it!"

Given the woman's haughty demeanor, Nancy highly doubted that, but still she continued to press for more details. "I meant no offense, Mrs. Graham. I apologize if I offended you in any way, but the more details we have, the more we can help each other, and we need to be honest with each other. I can tell by the look in your eyes that you are keeping something from the two of us. Tell me the truth. Who was she seeing?"

Renata's lips pursed into such a thin line, Nancy thought for certain they would disappear, like a line being erased by a pencil, and when she did finally find her voice again, her tone was disgusted. "A—a young man by the name of Mark. He's a—a drinker, I'm certain he's involved in…gangs." That last part was practically a whisper, and Nancy had to lean forward and strain almost to hear her. "I think he did it."

Nancy glanced towards her husband and saw he was jotting down shorthand notes on a napkin. She smiled and returned her attention back to Renata, just in time for their food to arrive. The detective took a minute to swirl her drink mixture before taking a sip, allowing the burning alcohol to go down her throat. She wasn't normally one to drink, especially on a job, but with everything she and Frank had endured within the last six months, she needed it. Just once. They still hadn't fully recovered from the issue surrounding their botched Mohonk trip.

"I would start with Mark, and go from there. He lives in an apartment on 10th Street, you can't miss the filthy hovel," she grumbled darkly, grabbing her satchel and standing to leave. It was clear she had no intention of staying with the couple as they ate. "Find my granddaughter, Mrs. Barret, and I'll double the cost of what I initially offered to pay you both. Money is of no object to my family or me at all; I'll give you both whatever you want. Just please…find her," she begged.

"We'll do our best," Frank promised, giving Renata Graham a little wave as she sniffed once and turned her back, her posture tense and rigid. She shuffled as she walked, whether it was from her heels or her doubts about whether or not her granddaughter would be found, Nancy couldn't guess, but if she had to hazard a guess, it was likely the latter.

They finished eating and paid their bill, heading up to their hotel room. Nancy recognized the restless, hungry look in Frank's eyes as soon as he closed the door; almost slamming it shut behind him and grinned into his kiss. In that split second before his touch, every nerve in Nancy's body and brain became electrified. It was the anticipation of being together in a way that was more than words would ever be, in a way that was so completely tangible.

One inhale of Frank's musky scent and she wanted to turn around. His right hand dropped to her thigh, pulling up her dress over her shoulders until it was completely off. He tossed it aside in the corner. Nancy couldn't move even if she tried, like his fingers had short-circuited her mind in the best possible way.

He turned her around and gently shoved her backwards onto the bed, his eyes searching hers. She smiled and kissed him back, as Frank knew he would. With her lips, she can feel her husband's mouth stretching wider than it should, fighting between his urge to grin and desire to keep kissing her.

Her last thought before she allowed herself to be completely immersed in the sensation of loving her husband was a good one.

_We've done this so many times and it keeps on getting better_.


	4. Chapter 4: Gathering Intel

Nancy cringed, having arrived at the massive Wells Fargo building the next morning per the directions from Renata, curious to question some of the employees, see if they knew anything about Vera or her disappearance.

"Here it goes," she whispered. Frank had gotten up even earlier than she did to stake out Mark's apartment, hoping he could get some answers out of the boyfriend. Her husband had figured Nancy would have better luck at the bank, so they had, for the time being, agreed to split up during the morning and meet up over lunch to discuss their findings and hope they hit a break.

There stood the bankers, an armada of suits, none of them looking like they had created a thing in their lives other than a spreadsheet or some answers on a math exam that helped no one. They stood there so proud and unaware that their very industry was the rot of the world. It was genius, such genius, really, and the bankers all got richer than God, or at least, to Nancy, that's what it looked like, judging by their Armani suits, neat haircuts, and gold Rolodex watches. The people would come to the bankers, cap in hand for a mortgage, to buy a house for their spouse, something bigger for the kids, and they sat on the other side of their mahogany desks and scratched their chins, assessed their credit worthiness and made the loan. However, here was the sweet part, that money they lent did not even exist until the ink was dry on the mortgage paper, then after typing a few keys of their computers the money was created—an hour or so work for them, a lifetime of hard work for the borrower to pay them back in real labor. Plus if they defaulted, the bank would own the house, so either way, the bankers converted fictional credits into something real with no effort. They invented the money and they worked until they died of sickness or old age.

_But here's the best part, they think they're free! Ha, what morons_, thought Nancy darkly as she swung open the wide double glass doors of the bank's entrance. _The people are the slaves and the bankers are the masters. What would they do about it? Demand reform? They were too busy watching Oprah, feeling guilty over every calorie and posting their humdrum lives to social media. _Nancy forced a smile on her face as she approached the lobby.

"Hi!" she chirped brightly to the young woman at the desk, hoping her tone was cordial and polite, taking a good look around the Wells Fargo branch.

There were soft chairs, soft music and soft lighting, yet the bank reception area was utterly soulless. The posters were of perfect people like most billboards and advertisements, but these models were different. They were middle aged.

The man on one poster was silver-haired and peered out of steel-rimmed spectacles. The woman was slim but no runway model. The couple was casually but well dressed and their smiled showed the results of perfect orthodontics in their youth. The woman behind the counter coughed once to clear her throat, startling Nancy and returning her attention back to the front desk. She felt a little guilty as the receptionist looked at her a little expectantly.

"Hi. I'm…Sophia Barret, I'm here to ask a few questions if that's allowed," Nancy explained, feeling her cheeks flush hot as she almost forgot to use her alias. She caught a glance of her reflection in the mirror and even she was impressed. She had chosen to wear a neat crisp pair of black pants, black ballet flats and a white and black lace sleeve knit top, her dark brown hair curled, and her makeup pristine, her lips covered with a light, soft natural pink lip gloss, light brown eyeshadow on her lids. More makeup than she would normally wear, outside of special occasions, but then again, she wasn't Nancy Drew during this assignment.

_I'm Sophia Barret_, she reminded herself, taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves as she took a seat opposite the receptionist. _Sophia, Sophia_.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Barret?" piped up the receptionist kindly, handing her a miniature bottle of water. "Are you new to Wells Fargo? Are you wanting to open a checking or savings account with us? If you're here about a loan, I'd be happy to direct you to one of our loan officers, they'd be more than happy to help you today?" she asked, her blue eyes scrutinizing Nancy's appearance, and decided it was sufficient enough to offer the stranger opposite her a compliment. "Nice purse, ma'am. The shirt's cute too; I have one similar to that! You want a chocolate mint?" she asked suddenly, reaching for a little tin can of mint chocolates.

_Bess does it again_. _Guess I'll have to thank you when I get back_, Nancy thought, barely repressing her urge to grin. "Sure, thanks!" she mumbled, accepting a mint and popping it into her mouth, the cool mint mingling with the sweet dark chocolate on her tongue. "Thank you. No, I'm not here to open an account, I'm actually here to see if I could speak to Vera Graham. I understand she frequents this particular branch quite a bit?"

The receptionist's face fell and she immediately adapted a distrustful demeanor. "You a cop?"

"No, no, I'm not a cop, ma'am. I'm…a friend of Vera's," she said at last, lying through her teeth, but thanks to her ability at having mastered her facial expressions, she knew the receptionist believed her. "I just…" Nancy looked away for a minute, knowing she had the receptionist right where she wanted, wrapped around her pinky. "I'd heard rumors; if you will, that she's gone."

The receptionist fell silent, seeming to be battling with herself, trying to decide if she could open up to Nancy or not and trust her, when at last she found her voice. "Yeah, I knew Vera. _Know_ her," she corrected herself quickly, her mannerisms growing nervous. "She would come in here every Friday, like clockwork, always the same time, right before we closed."

Nancy nodded. _That adds up with what Renata told us last night. Wish I was in a better position I could take notes, but for now, my memory will have to be enough, I guess_, she thought, sighing. She crossed her legs and fidgeted in her seat and began to absentmindedly pick at her nail cuticles in a casual way, hoping she could get more information out of this woman. "Did she ever come into the branch with anyone? A man, maybe? A boyfriend or a friend? Cousin?" she asked coyly, biting her lip and waiting for the other woman to respond to her question.

"Yeah, a couple times, she'd come in with Mark. Mark Hoffsteader," she added, noticing Nancy's quizzical stare. "Her boyfriend," she chuckled. "The rest of her family hated him, thought she was way too good for him, and you ask me, she is, but whatever she saw in that man, she stuck to him like glue. I think she really loved him."

"Did she come in yesterday, by any chance?"

"No," said the receptionist, shaking her head, a little sadly this time, Nancy noticed. "And that's the funny thing! I asked around, I asked Mrs. Graham when she came in, and everybody refuses to tell me anything! Vera was—I consider her a friend. Maybe not a close friend, but still a good person," clarified the receptionist, whose name was Anne. Anne Farah, her name-tag on her shirt read in bold little black letters.

Nancy dug into her black Rosetti hobo bag to pull out a small slip of notebook paper and a pen. "Could you get me Mark's address? I want to talk to him," she explained, noticing Anne's confused glances as her gaze lingered on the notes Nancy was writing. She shot the receptionist a warm, kind smile. "I promise, I'm not a cop. If Vera really is missing, I want to do whatever I can to help find her, Miss Farah."

Anne's expression softened a little and her lips relaxed into a smile. "I hope you find her, Mrs. Barret. I certainly wasn't expecting her to walk off with all those bearer bonds. Though I'm confident in her ability to take care of herself, it's everybody else in this city I don't trust," she muttered darkly, reaching for her water bottle and taking a sip. "She could be anywhere, and with those kinds of funds, she could cash them in at any time, and if she carries that much in her purse, she's a walking target for thieves or—or worse!" she explained, sounding tense now.

Nancy nodded, tossing her dark hair back over her shoulders. "Guess I should go pay a visit to Mr. Hoffsteader next, then. Since he was apparently the last person to be seen with her, maybe he knows where Vera is. Miss Farah, thank you for all your help!" Nancy replied courteously, reaching out her hand to shake the receptionist.

Anne Farah nodded shyly. "Hope you find her, Mrs. Barret," she mumbled softly.

Nancy had just reached the door when an outraged voice, a man's, called out to her, shouting, rendering her frozen to her spot.

"Who's waltzing in here asking about Vera?"


	5. Chapter 5: Meeting Tom

Nancy whirled around to face the person who had shouted, finding herself standing mere inches away from a man in his early forties, looking thoroughly disgruntled at the idea of someone coming into the bank and asking questions regarding the whereabouts of Vera Graham. The man walked in, three-day stubble and a neat pressed suit, the kind you only see on high priced lawyers and gangsters. He took in the room with a single sweep, his grey eyes settling on Nancy at last.

"Yes, that was me. I'm a friend of Vera's, sir," Nancy managed, as courteously as she could, taking a slight step backwards towards the front entrance doors in case she needed to make a quick exit. She took a moment to study the new arrival. He was a clear head higher than most people the detective would consider tall. Somehow, he wasn't lanky though, there's bulk on him too; muscles beneath his crisp collared shirt and pants.

Nancy wondered how many jokes and comments about his stature he received daily, jibes about "the air being thin up here." Though his legs moved slowly as he advanced towards Nancy, whose stance shifted, ready to bolt if she needed to, given she didn't like how this man was looking at her, he was still walking towards her as fast as any other staff member in the branch, each stride carrying him further, until his face was only niches apart from Nancy's. "What do you want with Vera, Miss…?"

"D…Barret," she said quickly, biting her tongue hard enough to draw blood. She resisted the urge to smack her forehead with her palm. She really was going to have to watch herself. She had a feeling she knew why she had come so close to slipping up a few times, her mind was preoccupied with other matters, but still.

Nancy could not afford to mess this up. Too many things were at stake here. She had to get better.

The man quirked a thick brow her way but chose not to comment. He folded his arms across his chest, the crispness of his simple blue-collared shirt wrinkling just slightly, and when he moved his wrist, Nancy could see a gold Rolodex on his right wrist. This man was wealthy, looked like the type who fully intended to take what life owed him, and managed to pull it off without looking gaudy and tacky. He was handsome.

"Your name is D Barret?" he asked, sounding highly skeptical of Nancy's botched intro, still keeping his arms folded across his chest.

"No. Sophia Barret. I apologize for the interruption, but I am a friend of Vera's. I heard she had…taken a leave of absence and wanted to know more. I figured since she's a Graham and comes to this particular branch the most, someone here would have the answers I'm looking for," she said quickly, extending out her hand. The man stared at her manicured hand, his gaze lingering briefly on her yellow gold wedding band, before drifting back upwards to meet her gaze.

At last, the man spoke. "Tom Barrowman. Head of security for this particular branch," he said at last, his voice still sounding hesitant, as if he didn't fully trust Nancy or believe her story. Nancy didn't blame him for that. Were she in his shoes, she wouldn't trust anyone either. The man if anything was fitter looking than she expected. His face told of a lean but muscular body beneath his work attire and his expression was serious but not unkind, now that Nancy had opened up to him slightly. He has that salt and pepper look to his hair, and against his still youthful skin, it was better than catnip to her. For a brief moment, she hoped Frank's hair would start to do this as they aged. He stepped back a little and gestured towards a back corner office. "Come inside, Mrs. Barret," he said formally, chuckling a little at her bewildered expression. "I apologize for snapping at you the way I did. Vera was like family to us around here, and to have her missing the way she is, well…it hurts."

Though she would have agreed and made the deal if he had looked like a fermenting potato, it just made her undercover work that much easier since he was so inviting to look at. She cringed, hoping Tom had not seen it. Frank had encouraged his wife to use whatever methods necessary to get information out of these people, and if that meant the occasional odd flirting with a banker, then so be it. He had teased her about this morning in their hotel room when they were getting ready. "As long as I'm the one going home with you, Miss Drew, flirt away," he teased, giving her a brief peck on the cheek before heading out to Mark Hoffsteader's apartment, hoping to get some answers out of him.

Nancy did not speak much to the head of security as she allowed herself to be led towards the back of the branch towards Mr. Barrowman's office. When she finally got to his office, she had to stifle her grin. His office was not at all what she had expected the head of security's office to be. Tom Barrowman's office was painted gray, and it had only one floor-to-ceiling window, which faced the man road. On the gray desk sat a desktop computer with a dual monitor setup and a keyboard, a notebook lying open, and a stack of papers sitting under a turtle-shaped paperweight. Near one of his monitors, a little Funko figure of the Monopoly Guy could be seen, right next to another figure of Benjamin Franklin. _Fitting_, she thought, but dare not say it aloud, lest she offend Tom.

In a corner, the air conditioner was blasting heat at medium, and there was a swivel chair in the middle of the office. A bookshelf, bursting with science fiction books was in a corner, with yet another stack of papers underneath a paperweight, this one shaped like a dog. A few pens were lying on the papers, but some had fallen onto the top of the bookshelf, strewn and forgotten.

"Have a seat, Mrs. Barret," he said cordially, walking around the side of his desk and plopping into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, looking like he was fighting a splitting headache, or perhaps the beginning onset of one.

Nancy obliged, finding it pointless to refuse. Something told her if she told the man she preferred to stand, he'd put up quite a fuss and make a scene, so to keep the peace, she sat down, setting her purse by her feet, fidgeting with her fingers, weaving them in between her knuckles. Normally, she prided herself on her ability to read people's expressions like an open book, but she was unable to do that with Tom Barrowman. Like her, he had perfected that same air of impassive indifference.

"What do you want with Vera Graham, Mrs. Barret?" he asked, getting straight to the point, seeing no need to play games. Before Nancy could open her mouth to speak, he added, almost as an afterthought, "Don't bother lying to me, Mrs. Barret. I know you are not a friend of Vera's. I know everything there is to know about Vera Graham. She's my little cousin," he explained, seeing Nancy's stunned expression. "Vera tells me everything, miss. I would have known you were her friend, she would have told me about you a long time ago. So you want to tell me what you're _really_ doing here, Mrs. Barret? What do you want with her?" he asked, clasping his hands together.

Nancy sighed, brushing a lock of hair back behind her ear. She debated heavily with herself whether she could tell this man the truth. The detective knew by looking into his eyes that he was genuine; he displayed no hint or signs that he was lying or intended to deceive Nancy.

Finally, she decided to tell him a half-truth.

"Mrs. Graham—Renata," she clarified quickly, "asked me to come up to Chicago to help find Vera. She's of the opinion that she's missing, and the police won't file a missing person's report unless it's been twenty-four hours. I may not be Vera's friend or know the girl in real life, Mr. Barrowman, but I do want to find her before anything bad happens to her. You ask me, it was incredibly foolish of Vera to waltz over with over $50,000 of bearer bonds in her purse. On the slum streets in Chicago, anything could happen to her. I am not a cop, but I'm sort of a…detective, if you will. _Amateur_ detective. She thinks I might have better luck finding Vera since I'm close to her age and can get in touch with her friends. Renata thinks her friends will talk to me instead of the cops." Her statement finished, she tossed her dark hair over her shoulders and waited for Tom to speak, for his brain to catch up and process the information.

Tom nodded, reaching for an unopened water bottle, popping the cap off and taking a deep swig. "I believe you," he said at last, when he'd finished drinking. "It's not like Vera to not tell someone where she was going. You ask me, I think that bastard prick Hoffsteader did it."

_That's the second time I've been told Mark Hoffsteader might be behind all of this. He must really be something else_, she thought, musing at the mention of the boyfriend.

"Is there anything you can tell me about Mark? Anything you think I should know about him?" she asked, dipping into her shoulder bag for a pen and her notebook. "You mind if I take notes, Mr. Barrowman?"

"Not at all, detective," he grinned, earning a coy smile from Nancy in return at the use of her title. "Mark Hoffsteader," he grumbled darkly under his breath. "First off, lemme tell you, I don't know what Vera saw in that bastard, but it sure as hell wasn't his charm. He's a liability to be around, Mrs. Barret. Keep that in mind if you decide to go pay him a visit. When he has a few drinks, he looses all ability to reason. He's the type to lash out first and think later. When any other guy would have just shrugged it off and walked away, he'll pull a flick knife. Of course, this is Chicago, there are only so many times you'll get away with that before someone pulls a gun on you," he chuckled darkly, smoothing his shirt and messing with his tie. "I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't think Mark deserves it, though. The day's gonna come when he'll piss off the wrong person, and then the whole Windy City will be better off without him in it."

Nancy gave a curt nod of her head. "Anything else?"

"Hoffsteader's a ticking time bomb. Always. His temper blows no matter how small or insignificant the provoking. His signature move is a solid upper cut to the jaw. I once saw one of his guys almost get their tongue cleaved in half by their own teeth," Tom explained, giving an involuntary little shudder.

"Is that all you can tell me about Mark?" she asked, knowing that this was as much as she would obtain about the boyfriend, at least from the people in the branch. To learn more, she would have to meet up with Frank or go see Mark in person. _Likely the latter_, she guessed.

"Afraid so," he said, a little glumly. "He came in on Friday with Vera, his hand practically glued to her waist. Like—like superglue or something. Never strayed too far from her, and the man's got a mean streak."

Nancy nodded, sighing as she placed her notebook and pen back into her purse, standing to go. "I see. Well, if that's all, I guess I should be going now. I think I'll take a trip over to 10th Street and see if Hoffsteader is home."

His little grin faltered and his expression grew grim. "Be careful if you do, miss, man's got one hell of a mean right hook. You say the wrong thing around him, you'll be payin' for it later with a trip to the Emergency Room," he said, getting up from his desk and walking her back towards the front of the lobby to escort her out.

"I'll be careful," promised Nancy. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew upon first meeting Tom Barrowman that she liked the man well enough. He seemed genuine, although her conscious was telling her not to rule him out as a suspect. _It's always the nice ones you have to watch out for_, her gut told her, almost guiltily so. To change the subject, she shot a charming little smile Tom's way. "Can you recommend any good places for lunch? It's about that time, noon, and I told my husband I'd meet him somewhere, but we didn't exactly do research before we made the drive up to Chicago."

Tom grinned, looking relieved to be talking about something more pleasant. "I can absolutely recommend a couple places. Depends on what you're in the mood for, but lemme tell you, it wouldn't be a trip to Chicago without paying a visit to Giordano's. Best deep dish pizza in the United States! Lines are always long, given how popular the place is, but it's well worth the wait, if you ask me," he boasted, a note of pride in his voice. "It's not that hard to find. Ten minute drive."

"Giordano's it is, then. Pizza better be worth it or I'll be sorely disappointed. Thanks, Tom!" she chirped happily, switching her purse to her other shoulder and digging into her bag to rummage for the rental car keys.

She sent a quick text to Frank, asking him to meet her there. He replied back almost instantly saying he would.

It was not hard to find one of the best pizza joints in Chicago. Giordano's was constantly making headlines, both in the Windy City and nationally. The brand garnered frequent media coverage and continuously won awards for "Best Pizza" lists and dining guides. Labeled "Chicago's Best Pizza" by NBC, the joint was popular. The pizza was perfect. The staff there could make bread like no one else. They even used herbs in the dough. By the time, Nancy drove to the restaurant to meet Frank; he had already gotten them a table and had ordered for the two of them, a BBQ-basted chicken pizza, with bacon and balsamic onions, three cheeses. There was nowhere in the world that sold deep-dish pizza like this, and even if they did, it would not be as good as the deep dish pizza at Giordano's.

"Hey, Nance. You look beautiful, as always. Love the shirt, your hair, as always, looks great! Mark wasn't home when I got there, so you and I will just have to go back another time," grumbled Frank, looking cross and disgruntled as she spotted him waving her over in one of the corner booths, away from the noise of the lunch crowd so they could discuss the case in private. He cut her a slice of pizza and reached across the table, handing her a plate with a knife and fork. "How did you fare, Nan? Were you able to find out anything from anyone at the bank?" he asked, eyeing Nancy carefully as she sipped her ice water through a straw.

"Yup," she nodded, taking a moment to cut her huge slice of deep dish pizza into tiny triangle bites, much to her husband's amusement. She noticed him looking and stared, confused. "What?" she asked, biting her lip, thinking she'd done something wrong as she glanced down at the pizza on her plate. "What's wrong?"

"You really cut your pizza like that, Nan? You're butchering the perfection of the slice!" Frank joked. "You call yourself a native to Illinois? You act like we've never been to Chicago before. That's not the way to eat a deep dish pizza. The only way to eat these things is to just say a prayer, cut a slice, and dive in!" he teased through a mouthful of pizza.

"Amen," she retorted happily, taking a bite and allowing the flavors to lay and settle on her tongue. Nancy scrunched her nose and made a face as she watched her husband not opt to use his knife and fork, instead eating his piece of deep dish what he deemed the "natural way," with his hands. "Frank, that's disgusting!" she joked, sticking her tongue out at him, still preferring to use the ease and cleanliness of her silverware. Given how loaded their pizza was, she was amazed Frank's slice didn't fall apart the minute it landed on his plate as he cut another slice.

"To each their own," he grinned, but then his cheerful demeanor grew more serious. "So, tell me. Mark."

Nancy took her time chewing her bite of pizza and swallowing, reaching for her water, taking a sip and wiping her mouth with her napkin before responding.

"The two people I spoke to at the bank, the receptionist and the head of security who also happens to be her cousin both think Mark Hoffsteader is involved in Vera's disappearance. According to Tom, her cousin, the man has a history of violent behavior, and drinking."

Now it was Frank's turn to make a face. "Guess that means I'll be going with you when you visit. No, don't' give me that look, Nance, I'm coming. I don't like the idea of my wife in the presence of some violent asshole, at least not without me there to protect you," he added, smiling a little smugly at Nancy's flushed expression.

She smiled. "You'll come with me, then, Frank?" she asked, already knowing his answer but asking it regardless.

Frank reached across the table and held her hand. "Nan, I'd follow you into Hell and back if that's what it took to keep you safe. I think we already did that back during our Mohonk trip, but I…that is not the point. Yes, Nance. I am coming with you, and I will always be with you. Until the end of the world." There was something about the way he smiled, the way butterflies seemed to escape from the pit of his stomach and the way the sun had somehow toppled down from the sky and made a home right there in Frank Hardy's heart. He had the kind of smile that made Nancy feel happy to be alive and just that little bit more human. When she was with Frank, she felt safe. Protected. At home.

"You and I are in agreement then," she said at last through another bite of pizza. God, this pizza was good. Tom had been right; there really was no other place that made deep-dish pizza like this. And the good thing was, the pizza was so huge, they'd have leftovers for days.

Frank nodded. "Let's go pay Mark Hoffsteader a visit."


	6. Chapter 6: Unexpected News

They stepped outside of Giordano's, the cold December immediately hitting their cheeks, stinging their eyes with the fierceness. Nancy paused, suddenly feeling funny, at first thinking maybe the pizza she'd eaten was bad, her hand clutching the door handle of the driver side and she paused, needing a second to get her bearings. All of a sudden, she felt lightheaded and dizzy. She needed to sit down right _now_, or else...

"You okay, Nan?" Frank called out, frowning as he noticed how white his wife's face was. "Nance? Answer me!"

"Y—yeah, I'm good. Just…give me a minute, Frank, be right there," she managed weakly, taking in deep lungful's of the cold air, but it wasn't enough. She stumbled over to the curb, and with each step, her stomach tightened and ached all the more. She kept swallowing and her throat kept clenching, but no matter what she tried, she couldn't stop the warm feeling rising in her chest and up into her throat. Then she could taste it at the back of her mouth and she couldn't keep it down any longer. Her stomach lurching until there was nothing left to bring up, she wiped at her mouth with a napkin, grateful she'd thought to slip a few in her purse before leaving the restaurant.

"Nance? Are you okay? Do we need to go see a doctor? Do you think it's food poisoning?" demanded Frank urgently, coming over and gripping her arm tight, not hard enough to bruise, just enough to support her in case she felt faint.

She weakly shook her head. "No, it's…"

But she didn't get a chance to answer her husband. Nancy knew she would faint whenever her stomach would give out. It felt like her innards were replaced by some kind of black hole. Then nausea crept from her abdomen to her head and the world around her went black. Her skin went ashen and she stumbled forward before she fell, Frank grabbing for her arms as she tumbled. Then she laid there in Frank's arms, still as a corpse, barely breathing at all let alone moving much, spots swimming in her vision. Her eyesight blurred, but not because tears were welling up, though they were.

Everything became fuzzy; then she saw nothing at all. Her consciousness was floating through an empty static. Throughout the inky space, her faltering heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in her ears, alongside Frank's fading pleas for help, before deciding to lift his wife into their rental car and drive her to the hospital himself. This needing immediate addressing by a medical professional, it wasn't like his wife to get sick like this, let alone faint out of nowhere. The feeling in Nancy's body drained away until finally, all was black.

The last thing she heard was Frank's voice. "We're gonna be fine, Nance. You'll be fine, I promise. I won't let anything happen to you, honey."

* * *

Nancy awoke in an unfamiliar hospital room feeling drained. The hospital room was as devoid of beauty as Frank was of hope. The walls were simply cream, not feeling or dirty, just cream-colored. There was no decoration at all save the door and the curtain. It was perhaps once the kind of green that reminded Nancy of springtime and hope, but it was faded so much that the hue was insipid. The room was an undertone of bleach and the floor was simply gray.

At the far end of Nancy's private room were windows in brown metal frames, only openable at the very top of them. There were stands for intravenous drips and monitors, and when Nancy lifted her hand to study it, there were IV's in her left hand, feeding her intravenous fluids. At the door were dispensers for rubber gloves, hand sanitizer, and soap. These items only reinforced Nancy's irrational fear of germs. Cleaning was mandatory every time a doorway was passed or a patient touched. But maybe the nurses will forget, or not wash properly, and then what? _I get sicker? _

"Hey, Nan. You know you're gonna be fine, right?" Frank's voice spoke up. She lifted her head and turned to the right.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sure it's just...food poisoning. Yeah, that's all it is, I bet. You sure you know? Well, if I'm not…"

"Don't go there, Nance," he pleaded desperately, pinching his nose with the bridge of his thumb and forefinger.

"Go _where_, hon? There is here, there is here, here is now, this is happening."

"And everything's gonna be fine. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it."

"Can I finish, hon? Please? Let me talk." Nancy begged, needing to say this. "I'm just saying if it's not, we're still okay. As long as we have each other we're okay," she soothed reassuringly, reaching for Frank's hand.

"Okay, then," muttered the doctor, holding Nancy's charts of her scans in her hands, a kind enough woman by the name of Nora, a young doctor in her early forties with her dark hair cropped short in a simple pixie, simple white studs in her ears.

"Okay what?" demanded Frank, immediately bolting from his chair. "How's Nancy?"

"She's fine."

"Really?" asked Nancy, not believing it.

"Really, yes. Aside from a mild concussion from your fall, brain function is completely normal. Same with the blood tests. And the recent stress likely contributed to you passing out, but only because you're a tad anemic right now, but that's to be expected, Miss Drew."

Nancy stared, not getting it. "Wait. What? Why is that to be expected?"

"Well, in your current condition," explained the doctor patiently, noticing Nancy and Frank's confused, blank stares. "Oh. Wow. You didn't know!"

"Know what?" Nancy asked, fearful.

"You're expecting."

"Expecting what?" asked Frank suspiciously.

"A baby," the doctor grinned. "You're pregnant. About ten weeks."

Nancy felt her eyes grow wide and round and had opened her mouth to speak but a loud thump interrupted her thought process as Frank Hardy hit the floor. The doctor's cheerful grin faltered as she looked at Frank's limp form.

Nancy let out a little chuckle and rolled her eyes, reaching for her water glass. "That's exactly how I imagined it."


	7. Chapter 7: Telling Bess and George

The hospital corridor is stuffy and the air has an undertone of bleach. The walls are magnolia and are scraped in places from the hundreds of trolleys that have bumped into them. The pictures on the walls are cheap benign prints of uplifting scenes and above the double doors are large blue plastic signs with the areas of the hospital that lie ahead. Bess and George meandered the halls of one of Chicago's largest hospitals, navigating through the crowded hallway until they finally found it. On the private ward the atmosphere was completely different. The air had a perfumed scent and the seats were plush. Every surface was dustless. The nurses were unhurried and they moved with a serene purposefulness from room to room on their rounds. There were vases of flowers and beautiful framed pieces of art on the walls. In the corridor was a water dispenser and in most rooms could be heard the noise of a television.

"Oh my God," Bess moaned as the pair of cousins found Nancy's room. "Not you too!" she laughed, noticing Frank resting next to Nancy on her hospital bed, an ice pack over his head.

Nancy looked startled. "Hey, Bess! George!" she chirped, her voice an octave higher than normal. Clearly, she was surprised to see them here.

"We're—we're fine, Bess, I just passed out!" Frank called out, wincing at the throbbing in his head and shifting the ice pack on his forehead.

"'_Just_?' People don't '_just'_ pass out, Frank!" George snapped, taking the bouquet of store-bought wrapped flowers they had brought for Nancy and tossing them aside. George Fayne looked relieved to see Nancy was unharmed.

Bess on the other hand, narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, almost as a dog would whenever it found something curious. "You're glowing," she said, almost accusingly. "Why are you glowing?" she asked, going on the offensive. It was all too easy to spot Nancy's sudden fearful glance as she eyed her best friends cautiously.

"We're not glowing!" snapped Frank, annoyed now at Bess's antics, still in a daze from earlier.

"Mmm, _definitely_ glowing. We didn't stay up all night driving and worrying about you to not know why you, Nance, are glowing! Or passing out randomly in a pizza parking lot! Now spill it! We want copious details!" Bess chirped.

Frank and Nancy exchanged a quick glance and sighed. It was pointless to keep something of this magnitude from them. "Okay, Bess, George, you _cannot_ tell anyone, you promise? We haven't heard back from Carson or my mom yet."

"Just until we let family know! Then, you know, you can tell whoever you want!" added Nancy quickly, watching her two best friends' brains practically work on overdrive to process their news.

Bess's mouth hung open slightly. "Seriously?"

"You're not joshing us around, are you?" George demanded. "Of course we're not gonna tell anyone!" she laughed, erupting into a huge grin. "This is like, the best Christmas gift ever, guys!" she squeaked, not waiting for permission and ignoring Frank's shouts to be gentle as she practically pounced onto Nancy's hospital bed, engulfing them both in a tight bear hug. "So happy for you guys! I know you're going to be great parents! But what about your jobs? Your real jobs, the receptionist job doesn't count!"

Nancy let out a little chuckle, having already anticipated all of her friends' questions. "Well, I'm thinking after our baby is born I'm probably going to retire, Bess. I can't keep doing this forever, you know, and I don't want to put our kid in danger by constantly being away and putting my own life on the line. I…" She turned away for a moment, looking outside the window. "I don't want our baby to grow up without his or her mom like I did," she whispered. "So after this case, I'm out."

George nodded, fully in support of her best friend's decision. "I think that's a smart idea."

She noticed Nancy struggling to reach her water bottle, trying to be mindful of the IV and gently smacked her arm away, handing it to her.

"Thanks," Nancy muttered gratefully, taking a deep swig of water, the cool drink refreshing to her throat, which strangely felt scratchy and on fire. "Guess I passed out from stress and anemic tendencies," she joked, turning to Frank, but he was not smiling or seemingly in any mood to joke around.

"Nance, this isn't funny!" he protested seriously, reaching for her free hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I don't think you realize the seriousness of your condition," he began, but Nancy shrugged it off with a shrug of her shoulders, dismissing his concerns with a wave of her hand.

"Frank, I'm pregnant, not an invalid. I can handle myself. I can walk, run, ride a bike, do whatever I need to do to help find Mrs. Graham's granddaughter. Then after we find her, we can go home, and I swear you can put me on quarantine for the rest of my pregnancy if you want, but let me do this, _please_," she grumbled. Bess and George exchanged a dark look. They knew that look. She was getting angry, and they knew it wasn't the hormones.

Frank sighed and buried his face in the crook of his wife's neck, not in the mood to argue right now. "Fine," he snapped. "But anymore instances of these passing out or—or pains that might be a warning sign, I'm pulling us out, and— don't you say it!" he shouted to Bess, who had a wicked mischievous look at his comment.

"I think it's a little too late for that, Frank, don't you think? Definitely too late!" Bess cackled unable to help herself, erupting into a bout of wicked laughter. A snort from George told the blonde she had gotten her cousin going with their banter, and soon they were all laughing, the worst of the tension in the room was gone.

Nancy eyed George over Bess, criticizing her simple maroon sweater that complimented her dark brown pixie cut and slender face, and black skinny jeans and boots. It looked good on her. "George…are you…wearing _makeup_?" she asked incredulously. "What's the special occasion?"

George blushed, scowling. She folded her arms across her chest and let out a huff of frustration. "If you must know, Sonny asked if we could meet up here in Chicago to go to a Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert since it's so close to Christmas, so, we just thought, since we were going to be in the area anyways, we could help you guys with the case. If—if you want," George stammered, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. She pointed to her simple clear crossbody purse that held all her stuff.

Nancy stifled her urge to laugh as she noticed the bag containing her wallet, concert tickets, and more cords for her phone and any other device that George had brought with her than she would realistically ever need. If there's one thing George Fayne was, it was organized.

"Bess helped me pick it out to avoid the stadium queues," she joked weakly, reaching up a manicured hand to brush a stray wisp of dark hair behind her ear. She checked her watch and let out a tiny gasp. "Oh, I promised Sonny I'd meet him for dinner before the concert. Gotta go, Nance, but we'll meet up tomorrow over breakfast and you can catch us up to speed on the case, see if there's any way we can help?"

Nancy nodded, turning to Bess. "You? What are you going to do while she's at the concert?"

Bess grinned and Nancy laughed. "Shop, of course! The avenues are calling my name!" she chirped, taking a second to put the flowers they had bought into a simple vase with water. "When are you getting out of here?" she asked, glancing around the dismally decorated hospital room with a sniff of disdain.

"Tomorrow," answered Frank curtly.

"See you guys tomorrow over breakfast, then!" Bess exclaimed warmly. She paused in the doorway of their hospital room, a hand on the doorway frame to steady herself, and glanced back at her best friend and her husband. "I just know you both are going to make great parents." Her piece said, she left them alone.

Nancy took advantage of the newfound silence to nestle into Frank's arms, resting her head against his chest. Though she would never admit it out loud, this pregnancy was exhausting her. "Hey, Frank?" she whispered.

"What is it, hon?" he answered, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, stroking her hair.

"Isn't it funny, that if I had made a different decision, I wouldn't be here with you now? If I would have…if I would have said yes to Ned all those years ago, my fate would have been different. Because if I sat here in a different universe, without you by my side, I would never have become complete, Frank."

Her words touched his heart. "Me too, Nan," he whispered, but she was already falling asleep.

_Me too_.


	8. Chapter 8: Pondering over Pancakes

Nancy wanted to kill whoever had termed it 'morning sickness.' The young detective felt like she had the most terrible hangover of all time, and she rarely ever drank. She was nauseous and liable to vomit at the slightest provocation. She couldn't even fill up their rental car with petrol with the fumes making her gag and heave. And it lasted all damn day, or at least, since she'd been up since five this morning, unable to think, her mind preoccupied about the case, wondering where Vera Graham could have disappeared to. How could anything so natural that eventually led to something beautiful—a new life—feel so bad? It was worse than gastric flu.

At least with the flu, you knew it would be over in a few days. This could go one for another seven months. Just the thought alone was enough to make her want to start crying.

She wanted their baby out of her, into her arms already. Nancy hated this state of silent lethargy, this waiting. The thirty-three-year-old felt trapped. She wanted to zoom ahead to after their baby was born, just the three of them. Nancy wrenched open the closet of their hotel room and opted for a comfortable looking long sleeve black turtleneck dress, black leggings and black knee-high boots.

Her husband noticed how uncomfortable she was looking on the ride to the café they were meeting Bess and George for breakfast and frowned. "You okay, Nance?" he asked, concern laced all throughout his voice. "Do I need to stop? Are you still feeling sick?"

She brushed away his concerns with an airy wave of her hand. "No, I was just thinking."

"About what? Vera and her grandmother?"

Nancy nodded. "Yeah. Where she might have disappeared to. She could be anywhere, Frank, and all we've got on her is her boyfriend's name and what she looks like, but if she was really desperate she could have changed her appearance, or—or used a fake name. And I…" her voice trailed off as she hesitated, looking out of the passenger side window. "I can't let anything get fucked up, these next few days, however long we're here. We gotta find her, Frank. We can't lose her."

At that comment, Frank actually laughed. "Nan, you've never let anything get fucked up in your life! The fact that you've solved so many cases and you're not even thirty-five yet is amazing. We're going to find her. Unless…" One sideways glance at his wife was more than enough. "This isn't really about the case, is it?" he prodded gently, careful to keep his voice neutral. He could tell Nancy was troubled. "Is this about the baby?"

And just like that, with that simple question, her hormones surged and her fears resurfaced as they had originally when she found out she was expecting. She had kept it a secret from Frank, intending to find a clever way to present her announcement to him as a Christmas gift, and then her little episode in the Giordano's parking lot had spoiled that idea.

As he helped her out of their rental car, Frank was surprised at the almost instantaneous shift in his wife's mood, from calm, to fully induced panic attack. Nancy was moving about the parking lot of the café like there was a hurricane inside of her, instead of a baby. His poor wife was moving as her brain was demanding the energetic expenditure of an athlete but will not tell her limbs what to do. Her blue eyes were wild and when he made her sit on the chair outside of the restaurant, she started rocking on her heels until she exploded into motion again, unable to sit still.

"Nancy," he started to say, but it was no use. Suddenly, his wife was talking to him. Talking as if she did not have enough time to say what she needed. Her words were crowded together and some were missing. Her sentences were fragmented and her thoughts seemed to jump from one thing to another, mentioning something about miscarriages and statistics, and what if their baby is born deformed or dead, or they fail at being good parents, or she isn't there for her kid, and what do we do, Frank? What do we do? All her fears were tumbling out unchecked by her brain. Nancy was in some kind of mental free-fall, unable to analyze things or assess risk like she prided herself on whenever she worked on a case on a good day.

Frank's words were bouncing right off her like they were hard rain or sleet. Now she was right in front of him, her red painted nails shocking against the pale skin of her fingers as they white knuckled, holding onto Frank's sweater for support, and she was asking him if everything was going to be okay. Frank tells her yes. He told it to his wife repeatedly, stroking her back and planting gentle kisses on her face. He needed Nancy to calm down.

"Look at me," he urged, not unkindly, cupping her chin in his hand and tilting it upwards, forcing his wife to look him in the eyes. "Nancy, look at me. Right here, focus on my face, nothing else. Look at me, honey. You want this baby. I—I know you do or you would have…taken care of it," he admitted, wincing a little at the thought of the alternative. "We're going to be amazing parents to our baby, trust me, honey. Look at you," he encouraged, shifting them slightly in his arms so Nancy could study her reflection in the café's window. "You love this baby, it's in your eyes and he or she isn't even here yet. Not for another several months."

"But we—" she started to say, but Frank shushed her by laying a gentle finger to her lips, effectively silencing her panic attack.

"Stop that," he commanded, only slightly teasing her just a little. "I need you to trust me on this, Nancy. We'll be great parents, no matter what our child is or isn't. Do you trust me?" he asked, tilting her head just so, just enough for her to be able to look him in the eyes. "And don't turn this into a maybe. I need a yes or no from you, Nan," he added.

She grinned. "Until the end of the world."

"Damn right," he laughed, reaching down for a quick peck on the lips, interrupted by the sound of Bess and George from the café's interior. "The Doomsayers await," he joked, guiding Nancy into the quaint little café, a bit of a famous landmark in Chicago called Wildberry Pancakes and Café, famous for their pancakes and other breakfast food. "I hope you're hungry," he added, the corners of his mouth twitching as he heard Nancy's stomach let out a low, painful grumble, painfully reminding her she hadn't eaten anything since lunchtime yesterday before being admitted to the hospital.

"Starving," she teased, sliding into the booth, sandwiched in between George and Bess, Frank choosing to sit opposite the three women. "Hi guys! Tell me about the concert!" were her first words to George, who blushed and immediately reached for her glass of orange juice. "How's Sonny?" she asked.

"He's good," she said, a little too quickly, her cheeks flushed and pink with embarrassment.

Nancy opened her mouth to speak further, but was interrupted by the arrival of their waiter, a kind enough kid around twenty-three by the name of Kirk, pleasant in manner and appearance, his dark hair cut neat and close, the restaurant's polo shirt and jeans neat and hugging his slender lean frame.

"Hi, guys! I take it by that hungry, bewildered look in your eyes this is your first time to Wildberry's?" Kirk chirped, a pad and pencil in his hands. "Do you guys need a few minutes to look over the menu and decide?"

"I'm so hungry I could eat a horse," mumbled Nancy, flipping open the menu to study the choices.

"Yes, please!" piped up Bess, nodding shyly to Kirk as he refilled their water glasses and poured them all cups of coffee without waiting to be asked. "Thanks, Kirk!"

Kirk nodded. "Be back in a few," he promised, darting around the corner to check on another table. Despite the early morning of this dreary Sunday, the place was eerily deserted, which made Nancy feel a little off.

"What are you getting, Frank?" Nancy asked, studying her husband over the rim of her menu. "I'm thinking the Signature Berry Bliss pancake stack, since this is our first time here."

"The Garden Denver skillet for me," he called across the table, flipping his menu shut and folding his fingers together. "Did Nancy catch you guys up to speed on what's going on?" he asked, his gaze fixated on Bess and George as they mulled over the menu and made their choices.

George nodded. "Yeah. What does Mrs. Graham think she can accomplish by not involving the police in Vera's disappearance? Is she trying to save face or what?" she scowled, reaching for her water glass and taking a sip. She opened her mouth to speak further, but didn't get a chance as Kirk returned, notepad and pen in hand ready to take their orders, happy for their business.

"All right, I'm back," he joked. "What can I get for you guys?" he mumbled, all business, as he held the pad and pencil so close to his face to see his nose practically touched the tip of the pen cap.

"Garden Denver skillet for Frank, I'll have stack of three Signature Berry Bliss pancakes with two fried eggs, please, and burnt bacon."

Kirk startled, finding her request for burnt bacon odd, but one dark look from Frank Hardy and the server knew better than to question the strange taste in how this woman's bacon was cooked. "How crisp you want it, ma'am?" he asked, quirking a thick brow Nancy's way.

"Black. Burn it," Nancy commanded, doing her best to ignore George and Bess's stifled grins behind the palms of their hands. "I saw that," she snapped as soon as Kirk had taken Bess and George's orders and their menus.

"I can't wait to see what you'll be like at nine months, Nance," teased George mercilessly.

Nancy retaliated by crumpling the wrapper of her straw to her ice water and chucking it at George. She stuck out her tongue playfully and scrunched her nose and made a face.

"So do you have any leads on Vera?" Bess asked, desiring to change the subject to the topic of their case. "We want to help!"

Nancy nodded, sipping her water through a straw. "Only lead we have so far is the boyfriend, Mark Hoffsteader. Alcoholic, or so we're told, and less than desirable to stay in the company of a family like the Graham's."

Now it was Bess's turn to make a face. "Ew."

"Yup," Nancy agreed, sounding disgusted at the thought of any man who would dare lay a hand to a woman. "But he's our first stop after breakfast," she said, glancing out at the restaurant just in time for Kirk to bring them their heavily laden plates of breakfast food.

"Enjoy it, guys," he said warmly, dropping off their check for when they were ready.

"Thanks!" Frank called out, turning to the massive spread of breakfast food that lay on various plates sprawled out in front of them.

Nancy did not wait to start cutting her stack of pancakes into tiny triangle pieces and pour a generous helping of maple and raspberry syrup on her pancakes. Her pancakes were cooked to perfection, golden brown and fluffy, a dollop of melted butter on top and the smell wafted to her nostrils, reinforcing the fact that she had not eaten anything since early yesterday afternoon. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until it was all sitting in front of her on the table, almost taunting her to eat it. "I see why this place is famous for their pancakes, holy crap, these things are good," she offered through a bite of pancake.

"You think Mark could be behind her disappearance?" George asked, her gaze flitting from Nancy to Frank, who nodded.

"Can't rule him out, and he was the last one to see Vera in person, or so Renata says," mumbled Frank through a mouthful of his skillet. "His apartment is next after here."

Nancy reached for her steaming cup of coffee, taking a sip. The young detective sighed, allowing the warmth of the caffeinated beverage to fill her insides, slightly burning her throat as it went down, but it did the trick of warming her up. "Maybe you guys can ask around some of the other branches, the other Wells Fargo in the area, to see if she might have had any friends at those locations and see if someone might have any idea where she could have gone, or who she might be with."

"And you?" Bess asked, fixing Nancy with an unusually uncharacteristic somber stare.

Nancy and Frank shared a knowing look. "We're going to see Mark Hoffsteader."


	9. Chapter 9: Mark Hoffsteader

The aching in forty-year-old Mark Hoffsteader's skull ebbed and flowed like a cold tide, yet the pain was always there. The artist understood at once why they called it a hangover, for it felt as if the blackest of clouds were over his head with no intention of clearing until late afternoon. How the smell of the wine last night was intoxicating, yet this morning it added to his nausea. The thirst stayed after each slow drink of water and his head felt fit to crack open.

Mark wrapped himself in the duvet, waves of nausea adding to his misery. His phone pinged with message after message, none of them from Vera; hers was a special ring, but then why would she call him anymore? Not after their fight…

His brain felt like it would swell beyond the capacity of his skull and now his dehydration was too obvious to ignore. He would have to crawl to the damn refrigerator for a cold water on his hands and knees, he could barely walk upright as it was. Again his stomach lurched and gurgled. Perhaps some painkillers would help too. He raised his heavy eyelids halfway only for them to fall shut. He raised them again and swung his bare feet to the carpet again. It was cold and sticky underfoot; he must have missed that earlier. One bleary look told him what he'd been eating last night with Val, late-night fish and chips apparently. He sank back to the couch; too many jobs to do, so much mess and his life in tatters.

Mark Hoffsteader let out a groan and barely stifled his urge to shout as the sound of someone knocking on his door at the ungodly hour of…he checked his phone…nine a.m. in the morning reached his pounding eardrums. He was _not_ in the mood.

Wrapping the duvet cover tighter around himself, he shouted as he padded noisily through his studio loft. "Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on, goddamn it, I'm coming. Jesus Christ!" he shouted, blearily struggling to focus his gaze a few feet in front of himself. A quick glance in a small hanging mirror in the entryway to the front door of his place told him he looked like crap.

Growing up, no one in his family except his mother had thought Mark handsome as a baby. Their gaze had halted when they got to his Roman nose and their "new baby smile" had faltered for a fraction of a second. As a boy, he didn't attract the girls. He was skinny and his cheekbones just gave him a skeletal look. But by fourteen, he was filling out, he had muscles from biathlon training and skiing all winter. By twenty, it wasn't just the girls after him. He had grown into those features; his bone structure was fine and perfectly symmetrical. It was manly. And as he aged, he became all the more striking, as a silver fox he was still asked to grace the cover of magazines over his younger peers. Vera had always said it was because with every passing year, there was a softness in the eye and gentleness in his smile. Or at least, that's what he projected onto the magazine covers, that his life was fucking perfect.

_If only_, he thought darkly, swallowing back acidic bile gathering at the back of his throat and wrenching open the door of his studio apartment, blinking in rapid succession at the new arrivals on his doorstep. For a moment, he was at a loss for words. "Who the hell are you?" His first words to the couple.

"Mark Hoffsteader?" asked the woman, a beauty and a slip of a thing in a simple black turtleneck sweater dress, black leggings and boots, a simple black purse swung over her shoulder, not much younger than him, maybe early thirties, he pegged her at as he gave her figure an appreciative once-over, something, he noted with some amusement, did not sit well with the man standing next to her. One glance at their hands told him all he needed to know. This woman was married to him. _What a damn shame_, he thought. If he weren't hung up over the bullshit with Vera, he'd totally date her. _That hair, those curves_. _Definitely a ten and I've never seen a ten before in my damn life. Not even Vera's a ten_, Mark thought as he stood back slightly to let them in. Also something highly uncharacteristic of him, to just allow a pair of strangers into his abode.

"It's the alcohol," he grumbled to himself, earning a quizzical look from the brunette woman and the man.

"You Mark Hoffsteader?" the man with the thick tuft of cropped dark hair asked, his tone distrustful and apprehensive as he glared at Mark.

"Who wants to know?" he spat back.

The woman tried a kinder approach. "Mr. Hoffsteader, I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, considering you're…" She paused, struggling to seem to find the right words, "_unwell_, but we'd really like to speak to Vera. Is she here, by any chance? If she is, I need to see her," the knockout brunette asked, craning her neck and glancing around his apartment as if she owned the place.

_This bitch_, he thought angrily. "No, she isn't," he snapped, venom dripping from his words as he spoke them, clutching onto his duvet cover as he collapsed back onto his sofa, fighting back an onset wave of nausea. "You two cops?" he growled.

"No," the woman replied calmly, shaking her head. "I'm a friend of Vera's, Mark. I just really want to find her. Mrs. Graham said you were the last person to see Vera before she disappeared a few days ago. Were you?" She fixed him with a cold stare.

"What's your name?" he asked, suddenly suspicious of this woman and her companion, not trusting this.

"Sophia Barret. This is my husband, Colin. We're friends of Vera Graham's," she answered curtly, shifting her purse to her other arm and fidgeting where she stood.

Mark scoffed and rolled his eyes. "If you're going to lie to me, you could at least try to do it better. I know everyone in Vera's social circle, she's my girlfriend, you two-bit skank, and she's never once mentioned you. Nice try."

The dark-haired man stepped forward, bristling with anger, his face paling.

"Apologize!" he shouted, clenching and unclenching his fists as though fighting back the worst of his temper. "NOW!"

"No," answered Mark coldly. "If anything, you two need to apologize to _me_, coming in here acting all high and goddamn mighty, into _my_ apartment, acting like you own the place, and you start askin' me questions about Vera? I don't think so! Get out! Now, before I call the cops and have them arrest you for trespassing on a man's property!" he shouted, his face purpling with anger.

The brunette woman remained calm all throughout Mark Hoffsteader's little outburst. If anything, she was looking slightly bored by it, and Mark wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or slightly turned on by that fact. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, as if she were getting a horrible headache and would rather be anywhere else but here.

"Mr. Hoffsteader," she tried again, forcing her voice to remain calm, though there was the slight tremble there, just the faintest, that gave away her trepidation about coming to see him. "We only want to find Vera. We have a missing girl on our hands with over $50,000 worth of bearer bonds in her purse in perhaps the worst part of Chicago, and the only person that knows what happened to her is you. Now you can either cooperate with me and my husband, Colin, here and work with us on disclosing Vera's whereabouts, or you can do this the hard way, and we inform the local authorities that you may have had a hand in her disappearance," she said, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly and absentmindedly picked at her nail cuticles. "We tell them that and they'll bust down the door of this hovel you live in with a search warrant. I can tell by the way your face just lost color you don't want that to happen, do you?" the woman claiming to call herself Sophia asked, smirking a little. "So, which is it? Will you help us by telling us what you know, or do I need to go get a warrant?"

Mark spluttered incoherently at the woman's threat as his brain struggled to catch up to what she just said. "You—you witch!" he bellowed, his face mottled and crimson, purpling with rage.

Sophia Barret, whether Vera's friend or not, merely laughed in response. "Call me whatever you want, Mr. Hoffsteader. I've been called worse," she confessed, wrinkling her nose in disgust as the scent of the alcohol lingering on Mark's breath wafted her way. "So? You going to talk?" she asked, taking a seat in the armchair across from him and crossing her legs.

Mark sighed, recognizing it was a lost cause. "You two cops?" he asked, shooting them both scathing looks.

"Sort of," admitted the woman. "Not officially, you might say. Just someone who wants to help a very worried grandmother find her granddaughter before anything happens to her."

Mark rolled his eyes. "More like if anything happens to that money Vera took," he hissed. "That old bitch doesn't have V's best interests at heart. All she ever cares about is money, money, money! She doesn't give a shit about V!"

The man called Colin shot Mark a withering look. "And you do?" he retorted, quirking a thick brow his direction. He folded his arms across his chest and sat back in the chair next to Mark. "You don't strike me as the type to care about someone, Hoffsteader."

Mark responded to his comment by flipping the dark-haired man off. "Fuck you," he spat, leaning back against the couch cushions and closing his eyes. He just wanted to sleep this godforsaken hangover off. "Vera was—is—my girlfriend," he grumbled, knowing full well if he just talked, the sooner these assholes would leave him well enough alone. "We had a fight the other day. She stormed out and left me. That's all I know," he added, seeing the woman open her mouth to ask yet another question. "You talk too much, anyone ever tell you that?" he snarled to her.

"More than once," she grinned. Her grin faltered slightly and her expression grew more solemn. "Mr. Hoffsteader, did she give you any clue, any leads about where she was heading? Any at all? If you remember anything, now would be the time to tell us, Mark."

Mark pondered for a moment, trying to reflect back on their argument. It was hazy, he could only remember parts.

"Tulip!" he said, at last, his exclamation louder than he would have liked and it startled the married couple opposite him. "That bitch, her best friend! She—she said she was going to stay with her for a few days until she 'figured things out,'" he snorted, rolling his eyes.

The brunette detective dipped into her shoulder bag for a pen and slip of paper.

"Tulip's address, you know it?"

Mark glowered at her. "Do I look fuckin' stupid to you, Miss Barret? Course I know it. 115 East Glenview Avenue, about an hour's drive north."

He kept his satisfied smirk to himself as the woman's triumphant expression shifted to one of dismay at the revelation Tulip's house was an hour's drive away, and that was IF you speeded. "She'll know more about it than I do. I haven't spoken to that bitch since Friday. I'm done with Vera, I think," Mark sighed, reaching for a glass of water and ignoring the sniffs of disapproval from the young couple at his choice of verbiage.

"You mind if we ask what the fight was about?" piped up Colin Barret, suddenly looking thoughtful.

"None of your goddamn business, that's what the fight was about, but if you must know, she told me she was pregnant and I told her to get rid of it. I don't have time for a snot-nosed sniveling little brat ruining our lives," Mark shouted, his eyes popping and his tree-trunk neck strained. His words were spat out with the ferocity and rapidity of machine gunfire. The woman's face went ashen at his declaration, but to her credit, she remained perfectly composed and calm, seemingly unfazed by the artist's temper, though he could see it.

The beautiful brunette's cold fury burnt with dangerous intensity. She was just like his now ex-girlfriend, Vera. He never worried about her frequent fireworks and showers of red-hot sparks, it was these bitterly cold slow-burning rages that threatened to kill.

To his and Colin's surprise, she reached out her hand and grabbed him by the scruff of his t-shirt, yanking him up off the sofa and slamming him against the wall. She leaned in, close enough to kiss him if she was of a mind to, and the dirty part of his mind secretly hoped that she would, but he knew she wouldn't. "Listen up, you fucking leprechaun!" she shouted, glancing upwards at his graying but still beautiful red hair. "This piss tank is getting on my last nerve. If you hurt Vera Graham in any way, and I find out about it, that you were the reason she fled because she feared for her safety and the baby's, I'll hunt you down and castrate you. Talk back to me again, I dare you!" she snapped, relinquishing her hold on his t-shirt. Mark Hoffsteader's fuse simmered and fizzed like a firework in a chilly autumn breeze. Then with barely a concealed smirk, the woman turned on her heels and walked away, gesturing with a wave of her arm for the dark-haired man, Colin Barret, to follow her, leaving Mark Hoffsteader speechless.

Nancy waited until they were a safe distance away from Hoffsteader's apartment before digging her phone out of her purse and speed dialing George.

"George? Hey, it's Nancy. Where are you guys? Uh-huh," she said, pacing the parking lot of the apartment complex restlessly. "Yeah, we just finished questioning the boyfriend. Got a hit, but it's going to require a drive. You guys up for it?" A beat. A pause. "Great! But before we go, you two need to tell me what you've learned." She turned to Frank and winked. "But only over lunch. I saw there's this cute diner on the corner of 10th and Santana Street…"


	10. Chapter 10: Finding Vera

The café was their refuge, this place where they could all make believe they were in a caring society. At the table were her friends and Frank, of course, as they mulled over the lunch choices.

"You just ate three _huge_ pancakes, Nan, not even…three hours ago!" protested Frank, laughing slightly as he glanced at his watch. "How in the world are you still hungry?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Eating for two, remember?" she grinned, and that shut him up. Nancy took a sip of her water and glanced around the little restaurant. Among the noise of the people, their scent, their occasional glances and the chatter of the baristas, Nancy gave her primitive brain a little of what it craved, just enough to see her through the drive to Tulip's place, where they would, hopefully find Vera and could escort her home, maybe even reunite her with her grandmother at the company's Christmas party, which was happening tonight.

"What are you getting?" Bess asked, her eyes glued to the menu, her brow furrowed as she struggled to decide. "I'm thinking the ham."

"Turkey pesto sandwich on pumpernickel with the works," answered Nancy immediately. She had a strange craving for turkey, even more so than usual these days, but she suspected her raging hormones of her pregnancy had something to do with it.

George, having already decided as their waiter came back, flipped her menu closed and waited until they had given their lunch orders before folding her hands together and speaking, her dark eyes glimmering with a little excitement.

"Oh, Nancy, you'll never guess what we found out. We talked to a few of the other employees at the branches like you suggested and she's—"

"Pregnant, I know," finished Nancy, smiling a little at George's pouting expression. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I take the wind out of your sails? Want me to pretend I didn't know so you can say it again?" Nancy teased playfully. Her expression fell solemn as she remembered the hard, dark look in Hoffsteader's eyes. "The boyfriend was all too happy to let it slip that he'd been careless with their…relationship," she finished, feeling her cheeks flush hot, "and he very clearly didn't want kids and she did, so I'm thinking she took the bearer bonds and ran to this woman, Tulip's house, supposedly her best friend. Maybe to lay low for a while she figures out what she wants to do with the baby. Something tells me Renata doesn't know about this little mishap, given how she disapproves of Vera's choice in men. After meeting the man, can't say I blame her, he was a huge dick," she sniffed disapprovingly, glancing at Frank, who returned the gesture, his eyes saying it all.

He hated Mark Hoffsteader, no doubt about it.

"You think we'll find her there, at her friend's house, Nan?" Frank asked, noticing the dimming ember in his wife's eyes as he studied her face carefully. "It would certainly be convenient for us, wouldn't it? To find her, bring her home, she could even come to the Christmas party tonight with us if she's still here."

Nancy nodded, reaching for her water and taking a sip, silently thanking God as their sandwiches and chips arrived. She hadn't realized how hungry she was, but then again, she'd never been pregnant before, so all of this was new to her. Her sandwich smelled amazing.

"I can only hope so. From what Renata told you over the phone, all her family is here in Chicago, same for her friends, so it's not like she would want to go outside the city or even the state, unless her life were really, truly in danger," she mumbled, covering her mouth with her hand as she took her time chewing and swallowing her bite of sandwich before answering. "I don't want to go traipsing all around the Windy City to look for her." She would never admit it aloud, but this pregnancy was exhausting her, and she was only ten weeks. _What is it going to be like for me in the coming months?_ Nancy briefly wondered, and decided not to think about it. There would be time for that later.

Frank nodded his agreement, the others not speaking much as they ate. When they paid their check, they all clambered into Frank and Nancy's car and began the drive to Tulip's house. Nancy was silent for the drive, opting to look out the window and tune out Bess and George's argument over a Sudoku puzzle.

"Not a bad little house!" chirped Bess, when they had arrived, pulling into the address's driveway. Tulip's old cottage house was like something out of a fairytale story book. Its roof was shingled and its walls were painted a candy pink. The square windows were mullioned and edged thickly in white. It looked just about big enough for one old lady to live there, devoting what remained of her life to the country garden that lay out about. "Guess we'll find out!"

They clambered out of the car, Nancy taking the lead as she strode up the driveway, not wanting to waste any more time. She raised her knuckles to the doorknocker and gingerly knocked.

Nancy's face remained professionally impassive as an unfamiliar woman, Tulip herself, answered the door. The young woman held herself like her upper spine was rubber, shoulders falling forwards in a way that would be more befitting of a grandmother. On her porcelain skin was heavily applied blusher and her lips were as red as any 1950's movie star. However, the rest of her was all so old-fashioned. Her dress was a primrose cotton and styled in a way that suggested it was homemade, and not by a skilled hand, either. Her mid-length chestnut hair waved, but not naturally so, more like she'd used over-sized rollers. When she caught Nancy's eye, she didn't smile shyly like she had expected, but instead treated her to a sneer she didn't feel like she had earned. All she wanted was to find Vera Graham.

"Yeah?" she said, popping her bubblegum.

Frank was the first to recover. "Are you Tulip? We're uh…friends of Vera's, and we heard she might be with you." At that statement, another voice could be heard shouting from inside.

"Is that Mark?" a woman's voice shouted. "Tell him to get the hell off your property or we'll call the cops! I'm not going back!" she shouted.

_Vera_, thought Nancy and breathed a sigh of relief. "Vera? Vera Graham?" she shouted, leaning forwards to peer into Tulip's partially open door, ignoring Tulip's frown as the stranger marched right on in her door, not bothering to wait for an invitation. "You don't know us, but we're friends of your grandmother's. Everyone at home is really worried for you, Vera. You should come home."

Nancy fell silent and watched as the young woman rounded the corner of her best friend's hallway. Vera Graham looked at herself in a little side mirror hanging on the wall and shuddered. Her pale skin was ashen, almost anemic; a cold sweat glistening on her forehead and her recessed cheeks; the moss of her eyes had turned into a leaf that was desperately trying to cling onto the last bit of its chlorophyll, its life. She had hair so black against skin so white and it made a contrast that only served to make the poor young woman look all the more ghostly, all the more haunting; her lips that were once pink and soft, now chapped and bleeding.

She looked tired, sick. _Stressed_, thought Nancy.

Vera Graham wiped her tear-stained cheeks and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remove the image of herself from her mind. Her hand reached for her makeup bag and she applied it all over her face carefully and slowly, as if this way of doing things was going to hide her sallow complexion better. After evening out her skin with porcelain foundation and getting rid of the garish purple circles under her eyes, Vera applied her dark eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara to bring out whatever color remained in her bright green eyes. She finished with a layer of lipstick that looked like the color of blood. Vera looked almost normal. She almost looked like Snow White with her skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood and hair as black as ebony.

"Who are you?" she asked, speaking to Nancy as she fixed the young detective with a slightly distrustful glare. "Did Mark send you?" she asked, sounding slightly accusatory now.

"No, no, Hoffsteader didn't send us," Nancy interjected quickly, and she didn't bother to hide her smile as Vera caught onto the hate in Nancy's tone at the use of Mark's surname, and Renata's grandmother knew she could trust these folks, given how much they seemed to hate Hoffsteader as much as she appeared to. "Your grandmother is very worried about you, Vera. Why did you run away and not tell anyone where you were going?" she asked, coaxing the young woman close to her age to sit on the sofa, looking like she was going to pass out. "We know about the baby," she whispered, keeping her voice low and neutral. "Was it that?" Nancy prodded gently, careful to mind her tone.

Vera nodded mutely, confirming Nancy's suspicions. "What would she say?" she croaked out hoarsely, referring to her grandmother. "I'd be the laughing stock of our entire family, the fuck up. I can't seem to do anything right."

"That's _not_ true," Nancy answered harshly, remembering how distraught the elderly socialite had looked the night they met. "She cares for you. More than you know, Miss Graham. She wants you to come home, and…" Nancy paused, wondering if this was her place, but she decided to offer it anyway. "If you don't…you know, happen to want this baby, there are…other alternatives, and I would be more than happy to go with you if you don't want to be alone during the procedure," she offered kindly, her voice soft and quiet. Without even realizing she was doing so, she felt her own hand drift towards her stomach protectively. She wouldn't start showing for another few weeks, probably.

Vera looked as though Nancy had slapped her.

"I—I can't," she whispered. "I'm keeping it."

Nancy nodded, not needing to say anything. "So?" she asked, after a long silence. "Will you come back with us? I can't think of a better Christmas gift to give your family tonight than by showing up at the party they're throwing. To be reunited with your family is a beautiful thing, Miss Graham. Come back with us," she urged.

Nancy wasn't even aware she'd drawn in a breath and was holding it until she released it as Vera fell silent, at last giving a tiny little nod.

"Thank you," Nancy whispered, reaching out a gentle hand and placing it on Vera's lap, a sign of friendship and trust. "Your grandmother will be thrilled to see you. And…don't worry about the baby. I am sure your family will be more supportive than you think. And even if they aren't, I will be," she added, smiling a little at Vera's nonplussed expression as the younger woman listened to the determination in the detective's voice. "You won't go through it alone. As for Mark, he won't be bothering you ever again, I promise," she added, remembering how he had spoken in regards to Vera, their relationship terminated after their fight.

Vera gave a little resigned sigh, reaching for her purse and her duffle bag. "He better not, or he's a fucking dead man if he tries. Let's go, I want to go home," she mumbled, giving a curt little nod to her friend Tulip. "Tulip, thanks for everything," she said quietly, enveloping her friend in a tight hug. She dug into her purse and pulled out an envelope. She was looking apologetic and remorseful. "I—I know I shouldn't have taken the bearer bonds, but I…didn't know what else to do," she murmured, her cheeks growing red.

"It's okay," soothed Nancy, guiding Vera out to their car where Bess and George were waiting. "You were scared. Renata will just be glad to have you home safe, I don't think you'll be in trouble," she said, shooting the younger woman a kind smile as she slid into the passenger seat, Vera sitting in the backseat between Bess and George.

"Promise?" she asked, sounding more like a fearful lost child now than a grown adult in her late twenties.

Nancy's gaze never wavered from Vera's. "Promise."


	11. Chapter 11: Christmas Eve

"You look great, Nance!" Frank's first words as he met her outside the entrance to the Hilton, the location of Renata Graham's company Christmas party. Nancy thought her husband was looking especially handsome this evening in a simple black suit and white shirt underneath.

Nancy's light gray wrap dress was flattering to her figure, highlighting all her curves, and when she moved, he could see her dress had a leg slit in the front. How she wasn't freezing, Frank didn't know, but he wasn't complaining with the view. His wife wore brand new black heels, her face only light made up, with a light foundation covering her face, and a bright red lipstick on her lips, festive for the holidays. Her dark hair had been curled and cascaded in gentle curls to her collarbones, wafting the intoxicating scent of her lavender based shampoo his way. He could smell Chanel No. 5 on her neck, and Frank knew tonight was special. She only ever broke out the fancy perfume for special occasions, but he would be the first to admit it was a cause to celebrate.

They had found Vera, relatively easy too, for which Frank was secretly grateful, though he would never admit it aloud. He didn't want his wife to go wandering through the slums of Chicago's worst parts of town in her condition.

"You look beautiful, Nan," he repeated, bringing his lips to her cheek for a quick kiss, brushing back a lock of dark chocolate hair from her face. "I love the dress," he whispered.

"Thank you," she murmured shyly, and Frank grinned, not bothering to hide it as a light blush speckled across his wife's cheeks. He appreciated that after almost six years of marriage, he could still make Nancy blush.

Nancy took a second to shift her black hobo bag to another arm, and if Frank looked carefully, he could see she'd put a new key chain on it, a souvenir they'd gotten when they visited the World of Coke in Atlanta over the summer while on vacation, a key chain of the Coca Cola polar bear mascot and a little red Coke bottle.

His wife noticed him looking and smiled. "For the holidays," she joked, holding out her hand for him to take. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"I've been ready," he said warmly. "I had an idea for after the party, Nance, a place I'd like to take you, but it involves going into the city. Are you okay with that?" he asked, gauging her reaction.

"Yeah," she chirped happily, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as they walked towards the Hilton. She groaned as her stomach let out a tiny grumble. "Please tell me there's food at this party," she joked, craning her neck upwards to look at Frank, who was fighting his urge to laugh.

"Of course there's food. If we know people like Renata, it's that they know how to make a statement and throw a party. Why, Nan, have you not eaten anything since earlier?" Frank challenged playfully. "You're not eating enough!"

Nancy shook her head. "No, guess not. I _am_ eating for two now, Frank, cut me a break." She held the door of the Hilton's lobby open for Frank. The sounds of Christmas music and people chatting could already be heard inside. Apparently, they were running late. The party had already started. "Are we late?" she asked.

Frank grinned. "Yeah. You caught me, Nancy. Did I mention I really don't want to be here? I'd much rather be anywhere else…with you," he whispered, leaning in close and his lips brushed the tip of her ear as he spoke. "If you get my meaning, honey. Let's just say hi, get food, and go," he grinned, pulling back to study her face.

She nodded. "You don't have to convince me twice," she teased, dragging her husband along by the hand once they had set down their coats and her purse near the coat check drop off point.

They made it to the lobby where all the food was and both Nancy and Frank stared. They could not help it. They had never seen so much food in their life. Nancy let out an exasperated sigh and maneuvered her way through the throngs of people to get to the redeeming quality of the overcrowded party. Sweet, sweet food. The benches that were dedicated to just desserts had on them lemon tarts, rhubarb crème brulee, orange blossom cakes, minted strawberries, two or three platters of chocolate frosted brownies that looked tantalizing to Nancy, who headed straight for the food.

Table tops layered with trays of the most delicious food and drinks lined the walls, delicacies capable of making one's mouth water: a whole roast deer with sprigs of rosemary threaded through its antlers and stuffed with bacon and rye bread, marinated Glenloth chicken, grilled trout with lemon, smoked sausages, and a pineapple glazed ham, mounds of fragrant wild rice, potatoes, and diced pumpkin smeared with butter and spices baked on hot stones. Countless cheeses that went with baskets of crackers and bread rolls shaped as seashells, and all sorts of varieties of salads and side dishes. A tureen or two on each table contained either hot soup or hearty casserole. There were decadent chocolate bonbons that oozed rum cream on the first bite. Drinks from the children ranged from orange juice to candy apple punch, whereas the grown-ups socialized around a waterfall wine chiller and Champaign fountain that sparkled with—get this—flames.

Nancy's plate was piled high with as much as her stomach would realistically allow her to eat, as was Frank's. After a while, Nancy nudged Frank carefully in the side with her elbow, gesturing to a corner of the room, away from all the chatter. "Frank, look!" she whispered, dropping her voice an octave as they crept closer to hear better. Vera was talking to her grandmother. "Think she'll be okay?" she asked.

Frank observed Renata Graham talking to her grandmother with tears in her eyes. They were too far away to make out what was being said, but judging by the way Renata enveloped her granddaughter in a tight hug in a way that suggested she did not want to let go, Frank surmised that she would. "I think so. C'mon, Nance, let's leave them to it," he said, dragging her by the hand outside the building, their absence unnoticed. "Mrs. Graham called me earlier while you were in the shower getting ready. She transferred the payment to our account already, refused to tell me how much she paid us, but I guess we'll find out later, but right now, tonight is Christmas Eve, and I'd like to spend it with my wife. Just the two of us."

Nancy smiled warmly, reaching for Frank's hand. "I'd like that," she said quietly.

They stepped away from the Hilton, and the sight alone before them was refreshing, better than the overcrowded office party of Renata's. Allured by the scent of freshly baked Christmas cake coming from a neighboring bakery amidst the bustling street of downtown Chicago's Christmas Market. Nancy took her lingering gaze her lingering gaze off the enormous Christmas tree adorned with glistening ornaments and glowing fairy lights draped around it. Strolling along the magnificently structured buildings, Frank and Nancy watched as people swarmed in and out of the bustling coffee shops and bakeries like bees. As the evening sky faded away, the pink and orange hues were replaced with dark shades of blue, whilst the amber light of the street lamps on the stone-paved streets. In turn, the elegantly decorated, wooden stalls slowly revealed their hidden wonders attracting long queues of bustling customers. The festively designated stalls, illuminated with blinking Christmas lights, vibrant ornaments and brightly colored street signs, were lined up along either side of the street and had varieties of delectable treats, jasmine scented fragrances, skillfully handcrafted greeting cards and unlimited choices of gifts, big and small, to customers occupied for several periods. The warm smiles of the vendors behind the stalls as they tossed freshly roasted, golden brown chestnuts into paper cones or carefully poured creamy hot chocolate into mugs and added generous layers of whipped cream, was returned by the beaming grins of the children who were eagerly waiting to get their mug. The energetic kids giggling at their chocolate mustaches were followed soon thereafter that fact. The loud spirited laughter of adults could soon be heard over the continuous chatter surrounding the vivacious atmosphere, festive and ready for Christmas.

"Come on, Nance," Frank said, taking her by the hand and practically dragging her like an excited kid through the crowds of an amusement park, not speaking and refusing to tell her where they were going until they reached the back entrance of the Shedd Aquarium. "Relax," he said gently, seeing her terrified expression at the possibility of breaking and entering. "I know a guy who works security here," he joked, slipping a hundred dollar bill to the guard, who held the door open for them. "Helps to have friends."

The aquarium was deserted, silent, and perfect. The aquarium fish were everything Nancy had hoped they would be, she took her time stopping at some of the tanks, running back to see others she hankered for another glimpse of or race onto the giant turtles. Nancy, like a delighted child, ran across the aisle when something caught her eye. A flash of white. "Whale! Look, it's the belugas!" she squealed, running over to the beluga's tanks, watching the two belugas play with a red scarf. The look of joy on Nancy's face told Frank his plan had been worth it.

"You like them?" he asked teasingly, coming up to his wife and wrapping his arm around her shoulder, leaning over to press a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"I love them! But…Frank, how the hell did you pull this off?" she asked, squirming in his arms so she could see him better. "I know you just said you know a guy, but even that has to require an immense plan…"

"And that's all you need to know, love," he chuckled. He fell silent, turning their attention back to the belugas, content to just watch the creatures play for a moment, before turning back to his wife. "Actually, I uh…brought you here for a reason, Nance," he mumbled, taking her hands in his and stepped away from her for a moment. "I know it's Christmas Eve, and I didn't want you to spend it alone. I know how much you love the beluga whales here, but hate the crowds, so I thought this was a nice way to be able to see them, illegality of my actions or not. If I go to jail for this, it will have been worth it," he joked, stepping back from her to study her face. "I wanted tonight to be special, love."

Nancy smiled. "It's perfect," she whispered.

"I thought for a long time about what to get you for Christmas, Nancy. What do you get someone who's already so perfect and has most of what she wants?" he began, suddenly looking pained. "I thought about it for a long time, before I found out we were going to be parents," he added, a lopsided grin forming on his handsome face. "And then I thought what would be the best thing for us, as a family."

He silently handed her a sealed envelope. "Open it, Nance," he encouraged quietly.

She did so, with slightly trembling fingers, whether out of anticipation or excitement, she did not know. Out fell a single gold key. She held it, examining it in the dim light. "Frank, what is this?" she asked.

Frank grinned, unable to resist teasing her a little bit. "That, my dear, is what they call a key. You use it to unlock doors, honey, didn't you know? And you're supposed to be the master sleuth."

Nancy scrunched her nose and made a face. "I know that, Hardy, but whose key is this?"

He did not respond for a moment, opting instead to come up behind his wife and snake his arms around her waist, his hand settling on her still very flat stomach. "Ours," he whispered. "I took the liberty of buying a house on the outskirts of River Heights with a little help from Carson. Our family is growing, Nan, in the best possible way, and I want us to have our own space to raise the baby, a place that truly belongs to you and me. And baby Drew," he teased, pressing his lips to her cheek for a chaste kiss. "What do you think, honey?"

She squirmed in his arms, turning her head slightly so she could look at him. "It's perfect, Frank," she whispered. Nancy looked back at him and there was softness in his eyes, so deep and brown, with just a fleck of gold at his irises. His eyes glistened in the light from the dim light coming from above the beluga's tank. She looked down at her heels, afraid if she stared any longer, she would ruin Frank Hardy's beauty. In response, he only took his finger and lifted her chin, so she met his gaze. Although his eyes were soft, she noticed the feelings behind them, as if he were longing for something. She felt warmth as he leaned in closer, their foreheads touching. One that she had never experienced before. It filled her body, from head to toe, invigorating and filling her with a passion and hope that was powerful. He leaned his head closer to hers and their lips met. Gentle but passionate, he deepened their kiss. The aquarium around her slowed, so she could be in this moment, savoring it. Savoring him. He put his hand on the back of her head, pulling her closer to him. They pulled back and smiled. She laid her head on his shoulder and even though she was still filled with warmth from their kiss, she shivered, a tremor running down her spine. "You cold, honey?" he asked, not giving her any time to answer. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. They stood together in that moment, and did not say a word, for it was too precious to ruin.


	12. Chapter 12: New Beginnings

"Ow, ow, fuck this hurts! Holy crap, Hannah! This—this really hurts! God, Han, when I do get that spinal tap thing?" Nancy moaned, not bothering to mind her language in front of her father's middle-aged housekeeper. She would apologize for it later. Hannah Gruen stood in the doorway of Carson's daughter's private hospital room, courtesy of Renata Graham, their room and hospital expenses already covered in addition to their fee. Hannah Gruen was a woman in her late fifties who had seen a lot in her years, her face lined but still pretty, her auburn hair cut to her chin in soft layers. Hannah lingered in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest as she sunk into her sweater for warmth, watching as now thirty-four-year-old Nancy Drew paced the hospital room in agitation, and back and forth she went, over and over again, the attempt to keep moving and distracting herself not working. Hannah, having known Nancy all her life, knew the kind of woman Nancy Drew was. Forever the organizer and a simple woman, Nancy was a woman who liked to be in charge, and something like this just wasn't possible for her to take control of. At some point, she would just have to allow nature to take its course and her body would know what to do. But getting her to _listen_? Another story entirely…

Her gaze flitted back and forth from Nancy to Frank, to Bess and George who were entertaining themselves by spinning around the hospital room in the wheeled office chairs, bored and ready for things to commence so they could meet their new godchild. Hannah rolled her eyes at the childish display of behavior from Nancy's friends. Nancy and Frank had agreed there was no one better to raise their child than either Bess or George if something should happen to both of them.

The pain of her contractions during her labor was a prison for her mind. In the last few months of her pregnancy had gone so smoothly, up to this part. She and Frank had not thought ahead to this part. In that jail cell of fear and confusion, the time passed without poor Nancy being able to keep track. Her stomach tightened, she heard her own scream without being made aware of making it.

"It's called a spinal block, and you can't have it yet, Nancy, the doctor said you're not dilated enough," Hannah piped up, taking a seat at the edge of Nancy's hospital bed. Poor Frank was looking absolutely terrified and utterly lost as to what to do.

"I have to wait for it to get _worse_? Why can't I have it now? It really hurts, Han!" Nancy groaned, letting out another piercing scream. "HANNAH!" she shouted.

The closest thing she had to a mother wasn't fazed by Nancy's haunting screams. Hannah sighed, unfolding her arms and giving Frank a reassuring clap on the shoulder. His face was drained of color and he didn't know what to do to help his wife but just offer support. "Honey, doctors are sadists who like to play God and watch lesser people scream," Hannah sighed.

Nancy lay still as the attending nurse administered the medication, waiting for the agony to subside. In times to come, she would forget these moments as effectively as formatting a hard drive, but always Nancy would recall the love she felt for their baby, her and Frank's precious child. _Mine_, she thought affectionately, and that was the one thought that kept her going. With each contraction came a pain that dominated her entire being. In those moments, for those seconds that stretched into infinity, there was nothing else. Nancy could hear sounds coming from the room, were they hers? When the pain passed it was only for a minute or so and she breathed with closed eyes, unwilling to re-engage with life outside of her own body. The room might as well have been empty for all the awareness Nancy had, and when they did talk, touch, gain her attention, she found it hard. To reply, she had to find herself from the deepest recesses and drag herself forward to use her own voice, open her eyes. To listen.

Hannah leaned over the bed railing and put her face in front of Nancy's, her face wet with tears from the pain of it all. "You can do this, Nancy," she said firmly. "You can do this, and you will. It's time," she commanded, her tone harsh but loving, the tough love was exactly what Nancy needed right now.

"I—I can't," Nancy panted, exhausted, collapsing back against the pillow, her hair splayed out on either side of her pillow like a fan.

"Hey, hey, none of that, Nan," Frank encouraged, holding her hand and not protesting as she gripped it tight enough to make a face as she practically broke his fingers. "You can do this."

Nancy glared at Frank. "Make it stop!" Nancy cried, not caring who saw her tears anymore if it meant the horrible ripping, burning agony tearing up her insides would stop. "Please, Frank, make it go away!" she wailed. "I—I can't take this anymore."

"You know I would if I could," he soothed, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "But I can't. You can do this, honey. Just—just do what Hannah and the nurse tell you and push. It's almost over, and when it is, we can hold our baby." After sixteen hours of labor, all of them were exhausted. Hannah, Nancy, and the father-to-be, who was facing zero-hour with the dawning realization that he was unwanted, that right now, his wife wanted Hannah and the other attending nurse much more than she wanted him.

"I want you to get behind Nancy," Hannah told him calmly, "and brace her back. Nancy, I want you to look at me, focus on my face right here, and give me another push. Keep pushing, keep pushing, that's it!"

Hannah, that godsend of a woman, was telling Nancy that it was time, time to push. With a guttural grunt, she did so and bore down, losing all sense of herself in the effort to create someone else. Nancy was told to stop. Three was enough. She felt the baby crowning and the hot stretching of flesh and held her breath. Without any further effort, the baby slid into the hands of the nurse. There was elation, a girl at last, and in seconds she was there, and eyes opening, mouth rooting for milk. Nancy looked into those new eyes, a new consciousness, perfect and reaching out for her love. In that instant, Nancy knew she would do anything to protect their daughter, that her love was as vast as the universe yet solid as a rock.

Nancy was a mother and would always be.

"Hold on a second," the nurse spoke up, her brows knitted together in a frown as she pressed down on Nancy's stomach. "I feel something," she said.

Nancy stared. "What? What is it?" she demanded, having eyes only for her and Frank's new daughter.

The nurse looked up, a startled look in her brown orbs. "Did anyone tell you that you were having twins?"

"Huh?" Nancy exclaimed, stupefied. She turned to Frank, who was looking equally ecstatic and happy.

"You hear that, honey? Twins!" he said delightedly.

Nancy sighed, rocking their new daughter in her arms. "That's nice," she said matter-of-factly. "But I'm not pushing another one out," she snapped angrily.

Hannah and the nurse laughed. "Oh, I think I can get you to change your mind." Forty minutes later, she'd delivered a healthy baby boy. "Congratulations, you two. Really."

"They're perfect. You're perfect," Frank said quietly, holding their new daughter in his arms, swaddled in a bright pink blanket, blue for their son. He reached over and placed a brief but passionate kiss on her lips. "What should we name them?" he asked softly.

"I still can't believe it," Nancy whispered. Their son began to cry in her arms. "Hey little buddy, it's Mommy," she whispered. "Guess it's name time."

"Yeah, I've been re-thinking those Star Wars names," joked Frank, cradling their daughter and nuzzling her tiny little face with his cheek.

Nancy stared at their son in her arms. "Oh, I don't know about that, hon," she piped up happily, allowing her inner geeky side to take over for a moment. "How about Luke?" she suggested, biting her lip.

"Luke," he said slowly. "Lukey, meet your sister. Your sister…." Frank's voice paused, trailing off.

"We gotta narrow it down to six!" Nancy laughed.

"Can I add a seventh?" pleaded Frank playfully.

"Seriously?" Nancy laughed. "What are you thinking?" she asked, stroking their son's face with her finger. "We're your parents, Luke. That's Daddy," Nancy whispered, handing their son off to Frank so she could hold their daughter and he could hold his son. "Seriously, Frank, she needs a name."

"Any ideas?" he asked, looking dazed, but years younger and happier than Nancy had ever seen him, except maybe six years ago when they married on their wedding day.

Nancy bit her lip again, hesitating. "I only had one name in mind if we had a girl. I was thinking we could call our daughter Kate," she whispered. "After my mom," she said.

Frank fell silent, a muscle in his jaw twitching. After a second, he nodded silently. "Kate and Luke Drew-Hardy. I like it." The new parents wanted to drink this moment in, this moment with their twins in their arms. Their eyes are more brilliant than they could have dreamed they would be, their tiny little hands more delicate. The babies felt so light, looked so perfect, and smelled so divine. Perfect. Frank and Nancy would be their protectors for as long as they lived and their love for the children would last for all time.

"Until the end of the world."

* * *

After the balmy days that had just passed, days that had invited summer dresses and white wine on the patio of their simple one-story house on the edge of town, coolness drifted in. Nancy could feel the newly damp air sinking in, bringing a delicate awareness of her skin that she hadn't had for quite some time. She watched as her one-year-old daughter, Kate, eyeballed the flowers in the pot that her mother had taken great care to plant gently. The flower that had been a tight bud only days ago had begun to open; already had a deeper blush of pink. The winter should still be in full force, but already spring had pushed it back to moderate temperatures and the kind of gentle breeze you didn't notice unless you stopped and became present in the moment.

Kate stretched out her chubby little fingers to touch the silky pink petals, to feel the coolness against her soft baby skin. She wanted to open it; see the pretty beauty she knew was inside. "No, no, hon, not that way. Leave the pink flower alone. It's not ready to come out yet. Nature has its own way of doing things, its own timing. Give it another few days and it'll bloom," soothed Nancy, hoisting her daughter onto her lap and watching Frank and their son play in the park within walking distance of their house, one of the main reasons Frank had chosen this house for them. A light breeze rustled the skirts of her green wrap maxi dress, her favorite and Frank's favorite too, the one with the white Manuka flowers embroidered on the front. Being friends with athletic George Fayne had paid off. The young athlete had put Nancy on a rigorous exercise program after she'd given birth to their twins, and as a result after only four months, Nancy was back to looking as she had pre-pregnancy, as if she'd never had children at all.

She was amazed, even after all this time, the dress still fit. The proud mom set down her daughter and watched her play, her arms folded across her chest and her blue eyes hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses.

Kate Drew- Hardy moved like her knees were just hinges, wobbling to and fro before falling on her padded bottom. Then she would clap like it was all part of the plan and rolled to her stomach to get up again.

Nancy felt a surge of affection as she watched her young daughter innocently wipe her hands on her little pink checkered dress, perfect for Easter time, coming up soon in a couple of days. She and Frank had to make a dash to the store the other day to buy little plastic Easter Eggs and little chocolates and prizes. Their first Easter as a family was certainly a cause to celebrate. The young parents would be scattering the eggs all throughout their back yard tomorrow morning, and Carson and Frank's parents were coming over for Easter dinner, along with Hannah, Bess, George, and Joe.

Kate Drew-Hardy was now one year old and cute as hell, dressed in her little purple dress and those soft first shoes kids wear, the ones they can still feel the ground through. Then from behind an oversize rhododendron came Nancy with a smile to light up the whole park. The child giggled, waving her arms for the pick-up she knew was coming, but before she was hoisted high on her mother's shoulders, she was on her bottom again, having fallen. Nancy took a second to sling her purple nylon Tegaote crossbody purse on her arm with the matching purple monkey keychain on one of the zippers, a supposed knockoff of the Kipling bags Bess loved so much; Bess had picked it out for Nancy as a random surprise gift.

Nancy had, at first, when she was a new mother a few weeks after her children were born, often found her mind drifting in the quiet moments of stillness, wondering if she would regret her decision to retire from sleuthing and her detective work. She wondered if for years she would have a lingering sadness the day she quit on the day her children were born, but instead, it was like feeling the first kiss of warmth after winter. Nancy had no one to impress, no schedule but the one she and Frank wanted to keep. She couldn't have been this free since she was a toddler herself. Frank and Nancy, when they weren't tending to Luke and Kate, had time to be philosophical, to notice the small changes in society around them, to reawaken their inner idealist.

It was moments like these that Nancy wouldn't trade for anything in the world, which kept her and Frank going back to the city park for lunch with their children.

They both needed these little reminders that the two of them could be inherently good and loving people; otherwise, the tide of the doomsday press would sweep them both away into some fearful and narrow-minded thought pattern. They never wanted to be like that.

A startled shout from little Luke broke Nancy out of her musings. Frank had lifted their son up into the air and was giving him a ride on his shoulders, heading Nancy's way, meeting them halfway in the park. The park was nothing like those of the smaller towns. Theirs were miniature formal gardens for the elderly that had retired there for a quiet life. They had benches, ornamental trees, and flowers year-round and water fountains in clear lakes that were stocked with Koi carp and goldfish, the big one and yellow ones. But not here. Not in the big city of River Heights, Illinois. Here a park meant acres of concrete interspersed with neat grass verges. They had a rollerblading track, tennis courts, basketball courts, and waterparks and skateboarder basins. There were vendors with hotdogs and burgers, vendors with curry and rice, vendors with tacos and sour cream. There was always music, sometimes clashing from various sources, none of them official. The park didn't have color from roses or asters, but it was more vibrant than any planned garden. Nancy was certain when their children were grown up and her and Frank's hair would begin to whiten, they would move out, just like Frank's grandmother eventually did and be somewhere where the birds could actually be heard.

But right now, though, she was at peace here. She smiled as her gaze landed on her husband and her son. He leaned in for a quick kiss and traded off, handing Luke to Nancy and taking little Kate in his arms. Every once in a while, as they walked back to their car to go get something to eat and head for home, she would chance a tiny glance at her husband. At Frank.

_Isn't it funny, that if I had made a different decision, I wouldn't be here now? If I would have stayed with Ned, I would have been dead. My fate would have been entirely different, written in different ink. Because if I was here, in a different universe, without Frank and my children by my side, I never would have become complete. And if there's one thing I do know, it's that I'm the luckiest woman in the whole world. When I first looked on his face, it was not on the perfect features that caught my eye—not the gold-flecked brown eyes or his vibrant red hair. Instead, it was the small blemishes and insecurities that drew me to my husband. The small scar above his right eyebrow, the scars on his arms that told the tale of his life prior to meeting me. His shy smile. That was the moment I had found the person who was perfectly imperfect for me. Now, when I look at him, I lose myself. All the mistakes I've ever made, and there have been many, are gone—every single of my impure thoughts erased. All my negativity, cleansed, almost like spiritual enlightenment. I know his eyes can see right through me, but I know they don't dwell on the hurt. He looks past every flaw to find the person inside, the real Nancy Drew-Hardy, his wife, the woman he married, and in that moment, I know I'm perfectly imperfect for him too. We're soulmates, Frank and I. And I wouldn't have it any other way_.

* * *

A/N: Stay tuned for my next Nancy Drew story, Title in the works, but Nancy Frank get asked to travel to Paris, France to investigate a series of hauntings where they run into a few familiar faces...


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